


And Now We're Here

by Nejinee



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Sports, Anal Sex, Angry Bucky Barnes, Arguing, Bickering, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Blow Jobs, Coaches, Dirty Talk, Drinking, Enemies to Lovers, Gymnastics, Humor, Language, M/M, Masturbation, POV Bucky Barnes, Social Media, Team Canada, Team USA, The Bronze, bucky barnes as lance tucker, mild sexism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-08-31 11:16:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8576308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nejinee/pseuds/Nejinee
Summary: Bucky Barnes is coach of the American Women's Gymnastics Team and he's taking them to the top, even if it kills him. He's also a previous Olympic medallist with a solid reputation of success behind him. He's known for his lady-killer looks, historic rise to fame and his frankly horrific temperament and personality. Steve Rogers, however, is new and irritating and Bucky fucking hates him to hell and back.--Based loosely on the movie 'The Bronze'. Bucky Barnes with the personality of Lance Tucker, only this time, he's met his match in one adorably frustrating rival.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks for stopping by.
> 
> My tags have The Bronze listed, but it's more of an inspiration than a rewrite (hence why this isn't placed in the fandom for The Bronze). The only things I borrowed were Lance's personality (yick) and that this is in the world of gymnastics.
> 
> Also, I know diddly-squat about gymnastics and the Olympic qualifying, so apologies to any olympic gymnasts reading this. Please don't squash my head with your powerful muscles.

It’s not the Olympics, not even close. It wasn’t even the qualifying for Christ’s sake, so why were there so many people?

Bucky had to take an extra twenty minutes just to calm the girls down. Stage fright? More like mat fright. He tried his best not to roll his eyes and patted Emily on her back as she breathed in deeply, hands over her face. Rosa stood right beside them, doing the same. Teenage girls were so difficult. Fuckin’ had to not only get their heads out of their asses long enough to train, but you had to contend with their hormones, their chatter about shaving and waxing and then about how awful it was that they couldn’t date lil’ Johnny Dumbass because their training schedules were so brutal.

Goddamn of _course_ training was brutal! You don’t make it to the Olympics and become a national fucking hero without busting your ass!

Bucky’d worked his own teenage ass off from dusk til’ dawn for like, ten years. Gold, baby. Silver, too. National icon. Suck it.

Rosa collected herself and tugged at Emily’s elbow. The loudspeakers called out for their team and they had to get moving. “All right, come on, now,” Bucky huffed. The rest of the team skittered up to them, all eager bounciness and glee.

Bucky sighed with relief. His hangover was kicking his brain to shit. His stress liked to manifest itself the night before, hence the copious amounts of tequila.

He ushered the girls out, false words of confidence falling from his smiling lips. The crowd roared its delight. Looks like quite a few Americans had shown up. The Toronto championships were the last stop before Team USA glory. All Bucky needed was for at least one of his stars to knock it into first place and he’d be set. He’d be on the road, this busted, worn-out road he’d started on almost twenty years ago.

While the girls sat and stretched at the sidelines, Bucky looked out over the arena. He spotted the Russians, a big contender this year, and the Latvians. They had some new blood, younger girls. Bucky smirked as he watched the Latvian coach pace up and down in front of her team. Bucky’d met her a few times. What a battle-axe.

His chewing gum smacked loudly between his teeth.

“Coach?”

Bucky turned, hands on hips. “Yeah?”

Rosa, the tallest, was tying back her long locks. “You think we’ve got a shot?”

Bucky grinned wide, annoyance flickering like a tic in his cheek. “‘Course we do. We came here to bust ass, right?”

“ _Coach,_ ” Sami whispered harshly. “Ma says you gotta stop swearing.”

God, he wanted to strangle the mothers. Especially the ones from Rural America. Sami’s mom? Complete bitch. Thank God she couldn’t fly out this time. 

“You stick to your routine, you swing those bars right, and we’ll be sitting pretty next year, just you wait.”

At his fake, toothy grin, his team’s faces lit up. He needed these girls to win. You didn’t get to the position of coach of the American female gymnastics team with just perseverence; You had to fake your way, smile your way and fuck your way to the top.

Bucky didn’t compete (didn’t need to, not with looks and fame like his) anymore, but he sure as hell wasn’t gonna let these hormonal pipsqueaks break his stride to the top. 

“Coach?”

_Goddamnit,_ didn’t they have all the answers yet?

“Yes, Kamala?” Bucky turned to the youngest. She was the smallest but probably the most likely to make it this year, so he had to play nice. Her floor routine was fuckin’ _gold._

“Can we fraternize with other teams yet?” she blinked up at him with those big brown eyes.

“Huh?” Bucky frowned. 

“My friend. She’s on the Canadian team? Remember? Can I say hi?”

_Oh jeez._ Bucky held back a strained chuckle. Fuck. Back in _his_ day, ‘fraternizing’ meant something else. 

Bucky turned a little and spotted the obnoxiously red uniforms of the Canadian team gymnasts. God, they had designers who were so damn lazy, with their constant maple leaf and red sparkle fetish. Ugh. He bet they sprayed maple syrup on their hands before leaping out onto the mats. Who needs chalk when you got syrup?

One of the Canadian girls was waving like a complete idiot.

“Later,” Bucky said sternly, turning back to his charge. Fuck, if it was his choice, they’d never speak to any of the other athletes _ever_ , but that wasn’t _sportsmanlike_ now was it?

“You got a first-place podium to stand on before then,” he said sharply, legs spread, back straight. “Right?”

“Yes, coach,” Kamala’s head bobbed up and down. 

At the signal, Bucky waved Rosa out. 

“Good luck!” the other girls cried.

Rosa was tall and lanky, but a complete beast on the vault. 

Bucky walked around, eyes not leaving her as she walked over to the other vaulters. It was pretty low-key, here; Not as many cameras as the World championships.

“Come on, Rosa!” he yelled with a clap. She turned and grinned, both hands giving a thumbs-up.

“Atta girl,” he muttered.

The Latvian went first.

Bucky wouldn’t be lying if he said he cursed her moves, her team and her country. He wasn’t known for being charitable.

He didn’t clap when her score was announced. He kept his eyes on Rosa.

“Your team’s looking good this year,” a deep voice rumbled beside him.

Bucky didn’t jump, but he felt his hackles rise. He chewed louder on his gum and folded his arms.

“What?” he snapped, barely flicking his eyes sideways.

Some guy in a baseball cap was standing just to his left, mirroring Bucky’s stance.

“Your team?” the guy turned and smiled at Bucky. “I’m hoping they do well?”

Bucky glared at the guy, jaw still working at the chewing gum. “Do I fuckin’ know you?” he growled before turning back. Goddamn nosy parkers trying to horn in on this.

Fuck, Rosa was shaking her hands like he’d told her not to. Nerves were getting to her. 

He whistled his short, sharp whistle. Rosa blinked up.

Bucky stuck out his tongue.

Rosa smiled and _thank God_ , her hands stopped wavering about like floppy fish.

_Good girl_.

Bucky could feel the other guy’s presence, hovering to his left. Rosa was up. He didn’t need this shit distracting him.

He dared not breathe as she took her run.

The springboard and table made good tools for Rosa. God, she was powerfully precise.

She vaulted just like they’d practised, smooth, clean and sharp.

No stumbles, no nothing and a smile on her face.

“Yes!” Bucky crowed and clapped loudly. Rosa was flushed with success.

“Nicely done.”

Bucky’s grin froze on his face. 

He twisted and looked at the fucker still hanging about.

“Sorry, you need something, buddy? ‘Cos I ain’t signing autographs.”

The guy was still smiling, his arms unfolding from tight against his broad, massive chest. He chuckled and held out his hand.

“That’s, uh, a nice thought, but no thanks. Steve Rogers. Wanted to introduce myself.”

Bucky paused, brain flickering. The name was familiar.

“Wait, do I know you?” he eyed the guy quizzically. He looked like just another dude. Admittedly, a dude with a helluva workout schedule, but that barely registered to someone as fit as Bucky.

“I’m with the Canadian Team.” this Steve guy tipped his head over to the mass of red and sparkly gymnasts nearby.

_Oh fuck_ , Bucky groaned internally. _This was their new coach?_ Goddamnit. Fuckin’ Canadians, always trying to be so Goddamn nice and friendly.

“Yeah? That’s nice for you,” Bucky grumbled, ignoring the proffered hand.

Rogers didn’t seem bothered.

“Well, just thought I’d say hi and wish you and your team good luck.”

“Yeah, I’ll let the girls know,” Bucky snarked back, mouth twisting.

Rogers paused for a moment before smiling and shaking his head.

“All right,” he murmured, stepping off and heading back to the gaggle of teenagers he was in charge of.

Bucky knew he should be playing nice, doing the right thing; Being respectful. But that was bullshit. He was here to win, not fake niceties with strangers. If the cameras and mics were on him, he’d play the game, smile for the fans. But really? Fuck that crap.

Unfortunately, he had to walk past the Canadian team to get back to his own.

He didn’t miss the giggles that erupted when he passed. Fuckin’ teenagers. Ugh.

His girls were hugging and hopping around Rosa. 

“Good job,” Bucky said gruffly, rubbing her back. 

“Thanks, Coach!” Rosa all but squealed.

Bucky eyed his team. “You all gotta do just as good, you hear me? I ain’t got time for bullshit. It’s do or die.”

“Yes, coach,” they all said with wide, goofy smiles. Fuck, did no one take him seriously?

“We saw you talking to Coach Rogers,” Emily blurted from inside the collar of her jacket.

The girls started giggling.

_I swear, teenage girls are gonna be the death of me_ , he thought, bristling.

“You know him?” Bucky growled, standing straight, arms crossed. 

“Uh, _yeah_ ,” Rosa said like Bucky was born in the stone age. “Have you _seen_ him? When he got promoted I was a little jealous, if I’m honest.”

Bucky cocked a brow at her. 

“You’re sixteen,” he intoned darkly. “what is wrong with you?”

The girls just fell about giggling.

“Oh, come on, Coach! You know we love you, but we can’t pretend he ain’t easy on the eyes!”

“Sixteen!” Bucky hissed. _Gross._

“Well, anyway,” Kamala pushed on. “We saw you talking to him. What’s he like?”

_A douche canoe with a fuckin’ Blue Jays cap, what do you think?_ Bucky thought aggressively. He could feel the annoyance bleeding from his face, but fuck him, the teenage girls just giggled some more.

“He’s the enemy,” Bucky said. He turned and eyed the Canadian team. “Seriously, do they not sell shirts his size over there? What a joke.”

“Technically, Coach,” Emily murmured, “‘ _There_ ’ is here. ‘Cos we’re in Toronto. Remember? Canada? Their home turf?”

Bucky glared at her. “Smart-mouth.”

“It’s nice. You should wear stuff like that,” Rosa said.

_Yeah, you watch me squeeze myself into some fuckin’ sweater that’s two sizes too small_.

“We got a uniform for a reason,” Bucky pinched at his Team USA jacket. “And shouldn’t he be wearing red? Why the blue, huh?”

Rosa shrugged. “I hear he’s got majorly cute blue eyes.”

Emily nodded. “Oh yeah, so it matches his eyes. Good thinking.”

Bucky made a disgusted face. 

“Where are you reading this shit?”

“ _Coach,_ ” Sami whispered loudly, sternly from the back. “ _Language.”_

Rosa shrugged. “What? You know they write this stuff about you. Why not Coach Rogers?”

Because Coach _Rogers_ wasn’t Bucky-Fuckin’-Barnes, olympic gold and silver medallist. He wasn’t a national sports icon with an ass that just won’t quit. Bucky knew tabloids loved him. Teenage superstar gone professional coach, with a body of adonis and a face made for Hollywood? Hole-in-one. Bucky was fuckin’ gold for the tabloids that were sick of talking about movie stars. He was the reason his team even got close to the endorsements they currently had. Sure, everyone wants a piece of the national teams, but with a representative like James Buchanan Barnes leading them? It was a franchise waiting to happen.

Gymnastics wasn’t exactly a top-tier sport in America, least of all Women’s Gymnastics. So what was Bucky to do if his face and charm got him and his team front cover shoots for Sports Illustrated and TIME?

Bucky couldn’t say that shit out loud in front of his teenage babysitters club but he could damn well rant about it later.

“Get your _shit_ together,” he barked instead. “this is a fuckin’ international athletics tournament, not a goddamn homecoming dance.”

 

* * *

 

 

The girls were quieter as they got back into their tracksuits.

It had been a longer day than normal.

Sami wasn’t feeling her best. Bronze for trampoline. Fuck.

“Well, we know they got trampoline down. No surprise there.”

Bucky glared at the assistant who’d so carelessly said that. She paled and backed away as he walked by.

Bucky had done enough consoling. Overall, they’d done well.

But those Canadians.

God _damn_.

“Who knew?” the commentators were saying into cameras across the nation.

Canada had been a surprising contender after all. 

_Fuck me,_ Bucky had groaned when their sparkly-red floor specialist all but wiped the mats with them.

Canada had obviously upped their game.

Bucky glared over at the rival team.

That idiot Rogers was walking around with one of the athletes on his shoulders, high-fiving team members as they went. So unprofessional.

Bucky wasn’t impressed when Rogers easily hoisted the girl back down, his arms and chest flexing easily, like she weighed nothing at all. _Whatever._ Gymnasts were built like birds.

Bucky eyed the rivals, even when Kamala ran over to congratulate her friend, the _traitor._ The whole Canadian team was all smiles and friendly banter, not once making faces at Kamala in her red, white and blue. _Amateurs._

Bucky’s gaze was caught when Rogers looked up mid-laugh.

The bastard had the _audacity_ to wink at him!

“Sonuva–“ Bucky growled, arms folding tighter against his chest.

He held himself back for a few more minutes, waiting for an opening.

Finally, the Canadian team packed up their shit and made moves to leave.

Bucky walked over, all hard lines and aggression.

“Hey,” he said harshly, stopping Rogers as the other man hoisted one of many bags onto his broad shoulders.

“Uh, hey,” Rogers blinked, and God help him, Bucky would owe Rosa ten bucks because yes, the man did have blue eyes to match his stupid fucking sweater.

Bucky waited for the rest of the Canadians to get out of earshot.

“Listen,” Bucky hissed, fists balling in his pants pockets. “You think you’ve got this? Well, you’re wrong. It takes more than one tournament, buddy.”

Rogers blinked. He settled into a stance that probably helped balance all the bags he was carrying.

“Uh, okay. I was gonna say congratulations, but I guess…not?”

God, his earnest-looking mug was making Bucky fume.

“This ain’t my first time at the rodeo,” Bucky said. “My girls aregonna whoop your ass next time.”

Bucky had to stop himself from pulling out his hand and pointing fingers. The media was still about. No need to start shit.

Rogers raised a brow and his lips quirked to the side. Bucky’s insides gurgled weirdly. Okay, so the girls had said something about this guy having a bit of a fan club too. Nothing _like_ Bucky’s, of course. But he could see it. 

“Team. You mean your _team_ is gonna whoop my ass,” Rogers answered.

Bucky glared. “What?”

“You call them girls, I noticed that,” Rogers said smoothly, poking the brim of his hat upwards. A few blonde hairs slipped free.

“That’s because they _are_ girls,” Bucky retorted, confused by what the hell was happening.

Rogers looked at him with some kind of solemn dad-face. Who the fuck was this guy?

“Well, as their coach, I find it’s usually better to not refer to high-ranking, top-performing teenage athletes as ‘girls’. As a male coach, I mean.”

Bucky eyed the guy, peering angrily at the shmuck daring to tell him how to talk to his team.

“Don’t you think it sends the wrong message?” Rogers added.

“What the fuck are you saying?” Bucky hissed. 

Rogers just shrugged. “Nothing. I just-“

“If you’re implying what I _think_ you’re implying, buddy,” Bucky leaned in close. “Then you are one messed up piece of work.”

Rogers blinked. “I’m not implying anything. I swear. I just think, well, okay, maybe I got us off on the wrong foot here. I apologize. Let’s start–“

“From the beginning?” Bucky squinted at the guy. “Fuck you.” Rogers looked taken aback. The language usually did it. Bucky wasn’t one for formalities.

“And fuck Canada,” he added on before walking away, hands still jammed into his pants pockets, where they were safe.

 

* * *

 

 

“You sure spent some time over there chatting with Coach Rogers, Coach,” Kamala said from her corner of the hotel room.

Bucky was stomping about after reading them the riot act about behaving, staying in their respective rooms and not fucking about while they were in Toronto. He kicked at Emily’s suitcase.

“Did I _not_ tell you to stow your shit, Em?”

“Sorry,” she blurted, hastily closing up her suitcase before clambering back onto her bed.

The four girls had hotel rooms side-by-side with an interconnecting door. Luxury in the eyes of teenage girls.

“Yeah, Coach, how is he? Is he nice? Does he say ‘aboot’?” Rosa chimed in from the pile of comforters next to Kamala.

“What the hell are you yammerin’ about?” Bucky barked. “Why are you on the floor? This ain’t a slumber party! What the fuck?”

Sami glared at him over the top of her paperback.

Assistant Coach Maximoff rolled her eyes.

“Girls, girls, leave your coach alone. He’s had a rough day.”

“Psshht,” Rosa hissed. “We were just curious.”

“Yeah,” Emily piped up. “Wanda, you saw Coach Rogers, right? Do _you_ think he’s cute?”

Maximoff actually smiled. Ugh.

“That is a strange question, girls. Perhaps we don’t pretend any other coaches are worth our attention. At least not while Coach Barnes is here, hmm?”

“You are the worst,” Bucky snapped. He glared around the room. “You all are.”

“Aw, come on, Coach!” Rosa whined. “We just wanna know what he’s like! You were talking to him forever!”

“Did he smell nice?” Sami said, peeking around her book.

Bucky stared at Maximoff. His eyes just said _What the fuck?_ She smiled and patted his shoulder.

“Come on, Coach. Let’s leave these superstars to their beauty sleep. Hmm?”

Bucky snorted, “They damn well need it.”

“Hey!” Kamala yelled as the door closed behind them.

Bucky sighed.

The hallway was blissfully silent.

Wanda chuckled. “You need rest.”

“What I _need_ is a stiff drink,” Bucky sighed.

Wanda looked him over. They had a few days to kill in Toronto before moving on. They even scored a gymnasium to train in tomorrow. So Bucky knew he wasn’t heading home yet.

“My brother is meeting me in the rooftop bar, if you’d like,” Maximoff said. “You’re welcome to join us.”

“He bringing girls this time?” Bucky said, a leer peeling across his face.

Wanda rolled her eyes. “He is probably bringing his friends, yes. It’s been a while since I visited him here. He knows this town better than us.”

Bucky considered it.

“Eh, sure. I haven’t gotten pussy in about a week, so you know.”

Wanda just turned and walked off. Bucky smirked and followed her to the elevator.

 

* * *

 

 

The hotel bar was pretty Goddamn busy.

Sure, this hotel was fancier than what they were used to, but was it really the kind of place Torontonians (Toronto-ites?) hung out?

The menu was outrageous.

Wanda’s brother, Pietro, was a firecracker as always. His friends, however, unsettled Bucky.

“Romanov,” he murmured, seating himself beside the familiar redhead at the bar.

She eyed him over her bloody Mary. “Barnes.”

“Didn’t think the Russian team was staying here,” he said, throwing back half his tequila.

“We’re not,” she answered blithely. “We’re at the Shangri-La.”

“Oh, la-dee-da,” Bucky bobbed his head at that. He finished off his drink and waved for another. “You friends with Maximoff?”

Romanov eyed his empty glass. She tilted her head. “Acquaintances. You can’t work in this business without making friends. Right?”

Bucky just snorted. Friends. Hah.

“So you telling me where you’re sleeping tonight – that an invitation?” Bucky looked at her with a cocky grin.

Romanov barely blinked. “I see you haven’t changed much,” she murmured.

Bucky opened his hands wide as if to say, _Well, look at me, can you blame a guy?_

“So that’s a yes?” he leaned in closer.

“That’s a no, Barnes,” she answered, stirring her drink.

“All right, your loss, I guess,” he shrugged and sat up straighter. His black blazer pulled at his shoulders.

Turning in his seat, he scanned the bar. It was dark but lit with fancy fuckin’ chandeliers that showcased the array of dark leather couches around the large room. The balcony doors were wide open, the city lights blinking in the distance, The the music was that nice in-between throb of techno and blues that only fancy-ass places managed to get right.

“You know, it’s still common knowledge that waking up in bed with a gymnast is a pretty big item on bucket lists,” Bucky lolled his head over and smiled at Romanov.

“Goody for me, I wake up alone in my own bed all the time,” she said back.

“I’m really awesome in bed, is where I’m going with this,” Bucky tacked on.

Roman sighed. “Does that ever actually work?” she cocked a brow at him. “Seriously, though. Does it?”

Bucky paused to stare into her eyes. “All. The. Time.” Then he grinned so wide, she mirrored it.

“Oh, James,” she shook her head. 

“Oh Natalia,” he purred right back.

“Stop it,” she laughed. “We’re not nineteen anymore. Go find someone else. You’re terrifying like this.”

Bucky snorted again and spun on his stool. 

Yeah. He would too. If there was one thing Bucky Barnes never ran short of, it was women willing to bend over for him. The day he’d realized that he had the baby blues women swooned for, he was set for life.

No woman had ever said no, except Romanov, Goddamn her. He even mildly respected her for it.

He leaned back and tucked his feet into the footrests of the stool and placed his elbows on the bar behind him. From this vantage point, he could scope out the scene. What were Toronto women like, hmm? 

A tall dark-skinned beauty was standing near the far corner with her friends. Another redhead, lacking the murder-glare Romanov touted, was laughing at the far end of the bar with a dude who, really, was no match for her _or_ Bucky.

Basically, he just needed to trawl a bit. Was he willing to put in a lot of effort tonight? Probably not.

A spot of movement caught his eye and he couldn’t stop the groan of complaint from erupting from between his teeth.

“What now?” Romanov said, back to the room, still sipping her drink.

“Who invited the buzz-kills?” Bucky grimaced, watching Pietro stand and give the newcomers high fives.

Romanov turned in her seat. “You know them?”

“Tall one’s Rogers,” Bucky snarked, nodding as the bartender set down his new drink. “What a fuckin’ dope he is.”

“Hmmm,” Romanov hummed around her tiny straw. “And the other?”

Bucky shrugged, looking at the chick with Rogers. “Dunno. She looks familiar though.”

“Right?” Romanov turned to smirk at him.

Bucky scowled. “What?”

She just kept grinning back.

“Oh, come on,” Bucky grumbled loudly as Rogers actually started to make his way over to the bar. “I have gotta bounce.”

To think Rogers could see him across a room and think they were buddy-buddy enough to greet one another outside of the gymnasium. What a fuckin’ idiot. Even in his brown leather jacket, jeans and t-shirt, the guy looked like a kindergarten teacher. A self-righteous asshole is what he looked like, if people got down to tacks. And, okay, so he had blonde hair. Bucky’d been picturing more of a brunette kind of ‘do. It matched the dumb blonde thing the guy had going on. Bucky smirked at the thought.

Well, he wasn’t gonna hang around while this guy squirmed his way into the posse.

Bucky was literally just about to slip off his seat and sidle over to the vixen in the leather skirt makin’ eyes at him, when Rogers’ first words had him stalling.

“Hey, Nat,” the asshole said, all soft smiles and teeth.

_The fuck?_

Romanov, the two-timing harlot, actually fuckin’ _smiled_ as this great lump of a guy wrapped his arms around her.

“Hey, Steve,” she murmured into a thick shoulder. “It’s been a while.”

The man pulled back and had that prissy grin in place. “Told you I’d make it to the big leagues.”

She snorted and patted his arm. “Took your time, Rogers.”

Rogers shrugged. “Still made it.” and he chuckled like a damn idiot.

Bucky didn’t realize he was glaring until Rogers looked up and blinked at him.

“Uh, hey,” Rogers said like the last thing Bucky’d said to him hadn’t been ‘fuck Canada’.

“Didn’t realize you hung out with the trash, Romanov,” Bucky sneered, swigging at his drink.

Romanov actually looked at him, eyebrows up.

“So…” she looked between them. “You’ve met, I take it?”

Rogers rubbed at his neck, “Uh, yeah. Sort of.” He blinked all innocent-like at Bucky, like he didn’t stand at six foot two and had arms like a lumberjack. “I may have, um, come off as a bit of a jackass to Coach Barnes, here.”

Romanov actually laughed out loud, something Bucky _never_ got to see. 

“What? No,” she giggled, then when she caught sight of Bucky’s thunderous look, she paused.

“You know this shmuck?” Bucky just said.

Romanov eyed him carefully. “Yeah. Same as how I know Pietro. This guy’s been working in the program since way back when. What? University?” she looked at Rogers for confirmation.

“High School, actually,” Rogers nodded.

“So you were a gymnast? I ain’t never heard of you,” Bucky folded his arms across his chest.

“Ah, well, no, not professionally, no,” Rogers said.

Bucky peered at this guy, wondering what his fuckin’ deal was.

“Then why the hell do I care?” Bucky said.

Rogers looked a little taken aback. Bucky tended to have that effect on people. He was real good at pushing ‘em over the edge. He also really enjoyed it. Plus, in this industry, if you weren’t Bucky Barnes, you didn’t really have much swing in any direction. He was top tier merchandise, had been since his teens.

This guy? Nothing, not a blip on Bucky’s radar of interest.

“Okay, so I offended you earlier, and I’m sorry,” Rogers said, standing straight. “You don’t have to accept my apology–“

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Bucky interrupted. He stood up and yanked out a few bills from his wallet. Before slapping them on the counter, he looked over at the leather-skirt chick. Still in play. Awesome.

“I just–“ Rogers tried.

“Nope,” Bucky said, backing away. “not interested. Romanov, see you round later?” He snapped finger-guns at her, but Romanov just frowned, like she was confused.

Rogers looked at her, baffled. Then he looked at Bucky and Bucky turned, not caring in the least.

_Kiss my ass,_ he thought, making his way through the crowd to the woman with the tan skin, leather skirt and welcoming eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

Predictably, Bucky got what he wanted. He wooed not one, but _two_ beautiful ladies into his warm hotel bed.

But before his evening culminated in sexual satisfaction, he’d played the game of Olympic Superstar out for the night.

He was good at this. He could play people like fiddles, could charm the pants off the queen. He loved being the centre of attention, and boy did he get what he liked.

The only annoying, stupid blip on his evening had been that asshole Rogers.

Bad enough the guy was already _in_ with Bucky’s colleagues, but everyone really seemed to _like him._ Like, smiles and high fives and laughter _like_ him. It was sickening.

And not to mention the attention he got. Fuck, at one point Bucky’d had to wait at the bar for his lady’s drinks and he’d had to witness Rogers getting chatted up by one of the hottest women Bucky had ever laid eyes on. And the fuckin’ moron wasn’t even playing her. Didn’t take her bait in the slightest.

It was pathetic.

But turnaround was fair play. When Bucky'd finally made moves to leave, he’d caught Rogers’ eyes. Bucky had one arm around his leather-skirted-lovely, and the other around the blonde who’d initially been swarming, cooing and drooling over Rogers. It was super fuckin’ childish but Bucky was good at being petty, too.

Their eyes had locked across the room and Bucky had smirked.

Rogers didn’t look very impressed. At all.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who have watched The Bronze, with our own TeamCap superstar, Sebastian Stan, you'll know exactly who Lance Tucker is. I want to just add:  
> I do not think Lance Tucker is a good person. He is terrible. I do not condone his language or behaviour. So I'm also just going to ease your minds and say that Bucky, in my story, will be better than that. All he needs is a buff blonde to get him there. :)
> 
> Also, how dare Bucky insult Canada! I love Canada! I love all nations, this is just Bucky's awful personality right now. 
> 
> Thank you for reading this far.  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

The morning sunshine could go fuck itself.

That was the epithet on repeat in Bucky’s head as he dragged his ass into the stupidly hard-to-find gym the next morning.

His sunglasses couldn’t be darker, but still, his eyes ached.

He’d managed to at least shower, get dressed and comb his hair into its signature coif. 

He looked fresh to death and felt like the reaper was at his back, gently running his scythe down Bucky’s central nervous system. 

Shit, he really shouldn’t have downed those shots back in his room. But with pretty ladies watching and joining in, how could he refuse? The lack of sleep wasn’t helping his mood much either.

“So, you made it out alive,” Maximoff said with a smug smile as she approached him.

Obviously, Bucky had missed wake-up and had ubered his way over to this gymnasium.

“Don’t look so concerned, Wanda, it’ll give you wrinkles,” he said, voice a little gruff. She shoved a bottle of water at him.

“You’re sweating alcohol and you smell like a damp basement, idiot,” he said back sharply. “Go sit down. You’re no use to me like this.”

She turned away while Bucky made faces at her back.

Whatever. He could take an hour to rest. He deserved it. They had only one more day in Toronto, their flight leaving in the evening and landing at the ass-crack of dawn, so yeah, he could sit. Somewhere. He took a moment to look the gym over. It wasn’t _great,_ or anything, but at least the equipment wasn’t straight out of the sixties. Clean mats and enough room to swing a cat? The sunlight streaming in from the high-set windows wasn’t helping much. 

The team was warming up on the mats. Bucky blinked, then rubbed his eyes. Shit, he really might still be drunk, because he was seeing double. It looked like there were twice as many girls in crazy, colourful leggings than usual.

“What the _fuck?_ ” he breathed out, squinting.

There were eight girls on the mats and he was fairly certain no one on his team had turquoise curly hair.

Then he spotted _him_.

“Satan giveth, and he taketh away,” Bucky all but hissed under his breath. He breathed in deeply, trying his best to not look like he’d maybe overshot a little the night before. Then, with shoulders back, he swaggered over to the other side of the mats, finally able to see the faces of the gymnasts, half of whom were clearly not his squad.

“Ah, here he is,” Steve _Fucking_ Rogers said with a tight smile.

Maximoff was beside him now and she hid her grin behind her hand.

Bucky glared through his shades at the blonde monstrosity currently training _his_ team.

“Hey, Coach! You overslept!” Kamala called out, waving. 

“Sleepyhead!” Rosa chimed in cheekily.

Bucky glared at them. The water bottle in his hand gave a slight crackle.

“Coach Barnes,” Rogers nodded politely, even if his eyes were hard as ice.

“What the hell is going on here? We booked this gym,” Bucky said sharply.

“Yes, but this is also our gym. Coach Maximoff requested someplace to train and I suggested this gym. It’s large enough for all of us.”

Bucky’s water bottle bulged a little.

“The hell it is,” Bucky bit out.

Rogers’ eyes flicked over to the girls and he wavered. Maximoff was unconcerned.

“Why don’t we, uh, go talk in the office,” Rogers hummed. He smiled at the girls, “Keep stretching. I don’t want to see any spaghetti legs today.”

“ _Yes,_ Coach,” his athletes answered. Kamala and the American team looked beyond pleased.

_Traitors_ , Bucky scowled.

He followed Rogers over to the small glassed office that clearly was inhabited by a hoarding librarian-accountant raccoon of some sort. Papers and folders climbed to the ceiling in piles of complete disarray. Bucky thought there might be a desk in the room, but he couldn’t be sure of what _exactly_ was hidden by the mess.

Rogers closed the door behind them, as Bucky stared out the large glass window where he could see the teams stretching.

“Look, I didn’t realize this would be a problem,” Rogers started. 

“Do I look like I was born yesterday?” Bucky turned and spat out. “You can’t train with us! Are you fucking stupid?”

Rogers blinked, “Um, I don’t see why–“

“You think I’m gonna let my girls run their routines in front of one of our biggest rival teams? Are you smoking crack or some shit?”

Rogers blinked. “You speak this way all the time, don’t you?”

“Listen, you fucking asshole,” Bucky pointed a finger at Rogers. “I don’t gotta play nice with you.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Rogers raised his palms up in front of him. His chest flexed under the plain cotton t-shirt. Fuck, did _none_ of his shirts fit? “I offered up the gym to Wanda yesterday before the tournament. We were just talking about how your original plan had bottomed out. Honestly, this wasn’t some kind of espionage power play, or whatever.”

“Like _hell_ ,” Bucky said back, dropping his water bottle onto a nearby mess of folders, plates and crumbs.

Rogers actually looked him dead in the eye. His face was stern, brows furrowed. “I’m not messing with you, Barnes. Man, you don’t have to train here. I just thought it would be helpful. It’s not my problem you aren’t paying attention to your assistant coach and her decisions on behalf of the team.”

Bucky paused before saying, “You think I can’t let my assistant coach manage? That’s pretty much her job, dickwipe.”

“And yet you can’t even be bothered to show up with your team, on time?” Rogers bit back. 

Bucky’s eyes flashed. He pushed his sunglasses up onto his hair. “Pretty sure I earned my good night out, _Coach.”_

Rogers scowled at him then and Bucky felt a grin creep across his own face. “ _It’s not my problem_ ,” he parroted back, “that you failed at getting ass so atrociously, I had to split the difference and do double-duty last night.”

“You’re disgusting,” Rogers said back, hands on hips.

“Jealousy looks good on you,” Bucky smirked. He mirrored Rogers’ stance, hands on his own hips.

“I hope you don’t talk this way in front of your team,” Rogers snapped.

“Why?” Bucky countered. “Worried about their teenage sensibilities? _News flash_ , Ken Doll, teenage girls don’t have any sensibilities at all.” He neglected to mention that _of course_ he doesn’t talk about his sex life in front of his team. Gross. What kind of sicko would do that?

Rogers puffed up and Bucky couldn’t help comparing him to a strutting cockatoo, feathers blown up and out.

“Fine,” Rogers said, voice dropping to a lower register. Bucky ignored the weird wiggle that ran through his belly. “You don’t have to train with us.”

“So you’re taking your team out?” Bucky said with a smirk.

Rogers glared back. “No, I feel bad for your gymnasts, but _you guys_ can sit this out. We don’t mind you watching our routines because we’re not dumb enough to run them.”

Bucky’s smile dropped right off his face. “The hell you are. You guys can leave.”

“This is _our_ gym,” Rogers snapped back. 

“ _We_ need to train,” Bucky said angrily, getting up in Rogers’ face.

They were inches apart, breathing hard and Bucky was _fuming._ Guys like Rogers, all shoulders and muscle always thought they were more intimidating up close. Like proximity was an issue. It wasn’t. Rogers even had a ding in his nose, like it’d been rearranged a few times already. Fuckin’ weirdo, looking for a fight.

Rogers was breathing heavily, face flushed with anger. Most people probably backed down, as the guy was built like a tank, but Bucky was an even match, he figured. If Rogers wanted to go, he’d go.

A sharp tapping noise made them jump.

Maximoff stood on the other side of the glass, hands on hips, face the perfect expression of exasperated annoyance.

On the mats far behind her sat all eight teenage gymnasts, faces turned, clearly enraptured by what was going on in the glass office.

Bucky scowled. Wanda scowled right back. “You’re an idiot,” she said, voice tempered by the glass.

“Hey,” Bucky retorted. Why the hell was she just chewing him out? Rogers was the idiot here.

“This how your whole team works?” Rogers said, voice losing its gruffness.

Bucky stepped back and looked at the guy. Frankly, the blonde looked baffled, almost off-kilter.

“Yeah, why? You got a problem with that?” _Why else do you think Maximoff and I work so well as a team? We’re fuckin’ cold as hell and dead inside._

Rogers looked at him, then back at Maximoff. He shook his head. “No, it’s not–okay, whatever. You guys can obviously train here. I did promise, I-I did. How’s fifty-fifty?”

Bucky stared the guy down. He knew he wasn’t gonna get much better than that. 

“Fine.”

Rogers sighed and rubbed at his neck. “Okay.” He lifted his hand, indicating the exit. “After you.”

Bucky snorted and grabbed at the rickety door. 

“Damn right, after me,” he said waspishly before strutting right back out into the open gym.

 

* * *

 

Considering his team had just gotten through the Toronto Championships, Bucky let them have a soft day. Kamala in particular was lazy as all hell, rolling around like a rag-doll,which had Bucky wondering what bullshit she got up to on the internet all night with the free hotel wi-fi.

So while his team did cartwheels and yoga poses, the Canadians played on the bars. Rogers was super watchful and always had a good comment on hand while they exercised. One of the Canadian girls was tiny and clearly needed hoisting up onto the uneven bars. Bucky did _not_ find it even remotely cute that Rogers was there, every time to lift her, like he did it every day. God, the freak even said ‘Upsy-daisy.” Bucky shuddered and barked at Emily about her form.

They had so many hours to kill, it was painful. Bucky made a point of ignoring the Canadians and their stupid coach, but he couldn’t exactly stop _his_ gymnasts from socializing.

Like when he and Wanda got back from picking up congratulatory Indian takeout, they found all eight girls sitting in a circle on the mats, Rogers closing the shape neatly, like they were at some kind of summer day camp for wannabe hippies. 

They’d clearly all been having an intense discussion, heads bent low, giggling.

The weirdness was broken when Kamala yelled out, “Toot food! Toot food for champions!”

The rest of her team bounced to their feet and ran over to help lay out the tin trays of piping hot rice, meat and snacks on the rickety metal tables found in all gyms and schools all across North America.

“Why’d you call it that?” the tiny Canadian gymnast asked, following Kamala up to the table.

Bucky eyed them as he and Wanda unpacked plates and drinks.

“It’s ‘cos we don’t get to eat takeout, like, _ever_ ,” Kamala said excitedly.

“And when we do, it’s always Indian,” Rosa said, lining up behind the two girls.

“And Indian food is toot food,” Sami tacked on.

“Because…?” the Canadian girl blinked owlishly.

“It makes you toot!” The other three all bellowed, cracking up.

Okay, yeah, it was still funny. Bucky was just so used to this joke, it had obviously faded and become something not unlike an old blanket thrown over a sofa you love. Hideous, but still worth keeping around, in case.

“We bought enough for everyone,” Maximoff said smoothly, unruffled by the girls falling all over themselves because of the never-ending fart joke.

Bucky looked up. Bah. She was talking to Rogers, who was walking over.

“Looks good,” Rogers smiled.

He was basically ignoring Bucky now, which was childish.

When Bucky ignored someone it was more akin to public shunning. Rogers was a fucking failure. Bucky kept catching the blonde looking over, then skating his eyes away.

Weirdo.

 

Bucky sat with his team while Wanda went over the schedule for the rest of their trip.

“The Canadian team’s really nice, Coach,” Sami murmured around a mouthful of rice.

“Told you,” Kamala nodded.

“Can we hang with them today?” Rosa asked bluntly, not one for beating about the bush.

“Girls, we have a schedule,” Maximoff said.

“I know, but Coach Rogers said he takes them for celebratory gelato after this. We don’t get gelato,” Emily all but whined.

Teenage girls, thinking gelato was some kind of mystical gift. Bucky rolled his eyes. He’d let Wanda deal with the bullshit.

“Well, Coach Rogers has his own way of doing things, okay?” Maximoff intoned gently.

“Coach Rogers can suck my–“ Bucky mumbled before Wanda elbowed him sharply.

“He’s super nice, Coach,” Kamala said, dropping rice everywhere. “You guys should team up. We could make a bad-ass transformer.”

“All our powers combined!” Rosa added, raising her fists for some Godforsaken reason.

“Captain Planet!” Sami chimed in.

Oh, god, these idiots.

“I don’t care what Coach _Rogers_ thinks or does. I know what’s best for my team,” Bucky groused. He paused. “And what exactly were you all doing sitting with the enemy, huh?”

“Oh, he was so nice!” Emily said.

“Just how I imagined,” Sami added before slurping at her coke.

“He’s super smart,” Kamala said. “Gave me some pointers, you know. Not sure if he should be doing that, but whatever.”

“Delete everything you ever heard,” Bucky pointed his fork at her.

Kamala rolled her eyes, “Coach, why you being like this? He’s not the devil. He even talked to us about you too.”

“ _What_?” Bucky stopped, disgusted. “What’d he wanna know? You didn’t tell him our routine details, did you?”

Rosa rolled her eyes. “Come on, Coach. He just asked us a few things, is all.”

“Like if you’re always so cranky,” Kamala smirked.

“And if we like having you as Coach,” Emily added. “He says we’re lucky.”

Bucky scowled.

Wanda tilted her head a raised a brow at him.

“Lucky how, girls?” Wanda asked.

“Well, ‘cos like, James Barnes, right? I mean, we know you’re a big deal, kinda. But he says you really used to be the best. Though I forget that sometimes,” Kamala said.

“Then we told him you’re always a cranky old fart all the time,” Rosa laughed.

Bucky’s teeth were grinding because he clenched his jaw so tight. 

_'Used to be the best.'_

 

_Fuck you, Rogers._

 

* * *

 

The girls got all sappy when they had to say good-bye.

Bucky’s headache at least had subsided, so watching them have meltdowns and hug each other over and over again wasn’t as painful as it could have been. Right now he only wanted to jam an ice-pick _partially_ into his brain, not all the way through.

He wanted to yell at them for leaving their hoodies and jackets all over the place, but walking around, picking up crap actually spared him from most of the weepy faces.

He hauled an armful of gear out to the rental SUV Wanda had used that morning. Tossing it into the trunk was about as far as he was willing to go. They still had to get back to the hotel, pack up their shit, check out before three and haul the whole team, all the assistant coaches, luggage and gear back to the airport in time for their stupid flight home.

 

He was going to faceplant into his bed the minute he got home.

 

When he turned to step back to shut the door and head back inside, he had to stop abruptly.

“What do you want?” Bucky said acidly, fresh piece of gum snapping between his teeth.

“I don’t think it’s, uh, a good idea to part on bad terms,”  Rogers stood there looking sheepish and uncomfortable.

“What is your deal, huh?” Bucky said sharply. “We’re not gonna be best friends, Rogers. Get over it. And you can quit quizzing my team on me, they ain’t telling you jack shit.”

Rogers frowned.

“I wasn’t quizzing them,” he said. 

“Then why, exactly, were you poking your nose into my business, hmm?”Bucky made his eyes go wide, and his mouth flat in a show of fake ignorance.

 

Rogers just blinked at him.

 

“Is it ‘cos you wanna be seen next to me? Hangin’ out with a champ, when you clearly are not on my level? Man, I don’t even know where they dug you out of, but you cannot seriously think we’re even remotely similar.”

Bucky reached up to tug the SUV trunk door down and saw something he actually hadn’t expected, or even considered.

It was so small, maybe he might have missed it. But when Bucky reached up, arm stretching, his shirt naturally rode up and in that _split-second,_ that tiny speck in time, Rogers’ eyes flicked down, roaming over Bucky's stomach and hips in a way Bucky was fuckin’ _sure_ he would have noticed before.

The door slammed down hard.

_Holy shitnuggets_ , Bucky felt the wide, toothy grin spread across his face even before Rogers’ eyes were back up where they were supposed to be. 

“You are _kidding_ me,” Bucky laughed, leaning back.

Rogers’ brow furrowed.

Oh, Bucky couldn’t believe this.

He took a step closer to Rogers, smile a mile wide, like a poisonous, dripping, Komodo dragon. Rogers swallowed.

“You wanna tap this, don’t you?” Bucky said softly, eyes flashing.

Rogers’ eyes went comically wide and _hah!_ His cheeks actually flushed pink, with shame or embarrassment, Bucky didn’t care. Bucky couldn’t believe his luck! 

“You think I’m hot, and you can’t even help it, can you? Oh my _God_ ,” Bucky crowed. “How did I miss this? Hah! You’re fuckin’ _gay_? WHAT? Oh, man! This is hilarious!”

Rogers stayed red, but he was scowling now. “I’m bi, actually.”

Bucky snorted. Whatever. It actually kinda made sense now!

“You want a piece of this fine, top-quality American ass?” Bucky hissed, aware, in his peripheral, that the girls were rolling out into the sunshine.

Rogers glared at him, the heat radiating off his face like an unchecked furnace.

“It makes you so mad, doesn’t it? Wanting a guy like me?" Bucky licked his lips in glee. "Unfortunately, _Coach Rogers_ , I don’t swing for your team. Bat your long lashes all you like. Those baby blues ain’t got nothin’ on me.” And Bucky bit his own bottom lip, eyes running over Roger’s face, his cheeks, his stern jaw and his now dark eyes.

The electricity and hysteria running through Bucky was almost tangible. He could hold this over Rogers forever. Did people even know? Was it common knowledge? Surely not. Bucky would’ve heard. Not that he'd be doing much with this, but it certainly made life a helluva lot funnier. What kind of enemy wants to bone the competition? 

"This is the highlight of my trip, honestly," Bucky's brows cocker higher and he held his hands out, palms up. "And you know what, Rogers?" He leaned in close. "You can't touch this. Enjoy thinking of me when you jack off tonight."

“God, you really are terrible,” Rogers said gruffly, taking a step back and looking down, hands on hips.

“And don’t you fuckin’ forget it,” Bucky said, gum snapping loudly before the clatter of rushing, uncoordinated teenage girls drowned out any other sounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tut tut. Oh, Coach Barnes. You are terrible.
> 
> Thanks for reading this far! More to come! Rating will be jumping higher.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating officially going up. Hurray!

One day. Just one day to sleep in and do absolutely fuck-all before they were back at it.

They had only one month until the World Championships and it was all Bucky was allowed to think about.

So on his one day, he _did_ sleep in. He made two square meals and lounged about catching up on the bazillion shows waiting on his DVR. 

Eating cheerios at midnight, bowl balanced on his chest as he watched Bob’s Burgers probably wasn’t the best idea, but in the morning it was back onto the regulation diet and early morning training.

The only thing that messed up his Monday was a weird dream he had about swinging on the parallel bars until his shoulders broke. That was a weird one.

 

Tuesday, they got the ball rolling, again.

He felt good, standing to attention in his coaching uniform, Maximoff by his side.

“All right, ladies,” he barked to his team, lined up in front of him. “From here on out, we’re gonna be bustin’ ass all the way to New York City, hear me?”

“Yes, Coach,” they all answered.

It was finally a good year where the World Championships would be held in the USA. And New York! Bucky was ecstatic, honestly.

They wouldn’t have to go very far.

Their training facility in Jersey was top-of-the-line, as one would expect from the National training program.

He looked his team over as Maximoff got them stretching.

It was hard to be a gymnast, as they peaked young. These girls were all based in New Jersey now, under his team’s tutelage. It wasn’t cheap to place a child into Olympic Gymnastic glory. It was fuckin’ expensive and most kids never got a good school-based education.

Rosa and Kamala had lucked out, what with both of them being from New York State; Rochester for Rosa and Jersey for Kamala.

Sami and Emily, however, hailed from Oregon and South Dakota respectively. They both had massive scholarships and even if they didn’t, Bucky would bet his left nut their small hometowns would raise and fund them all the way to the Olympics and beyond. Small-town pride was a helluva thing.

He watched them contort themselves into whatever pretzel shapes they could, Maximoff tapping limbs that were placed incorrectly.

He chewed his gum, trying to blow a bubble, but it was the shitty kinda stuff that wasn’t mean for bubbles.

The massive gymnasium was crawling with Olympic hopefuls. Team USA was nothing to mess with, that’s for sure.

Before their turn in New York, the sponsors were gonna be making their visit, so the whole team of athletes had to be face-kickingly good by then. Sponsors were the lifeblood of this business, and Bucky’s paycheque. 

“Don’t overdo it, Sami,” Bucky said loudly. “Watch that hip.”

 

The girls had been so peppy when he’d arrived, Bucky wondered what was up. One day off rarely meant they got enough rest. Most of them had schoolwork to finish up, be it online, or in Kamala’s case, at home with her mom. But all four girls had been a smiley, giggling mess.

Bucky’d wanted to ask Maximoff but she was all gruff professionalism.

They split the girls up and got them started.

Bucky was focusing on Kamala today, her floor routine needing work. He’d been sure it would land her first place, but apparently not. So he pushed her to go even further, explaining what he expected.

She always looked skeptical when he did this. 

“That’s, well, I mean, I’ll _try,_ Coach, but what if–“

“No what-ifs,” Bucky said sharply. “You’re obviously gonna _try_ because we ain’t leaving for New York until you’ve _tried_ so hard you’re pulling backflips in your sleep. Got it?”

“Yes, Coach,” she sighed before getting into position.

 

A couple hours in and Bucky started to notice something. While he’d been so fastidiously working on Kamala’s feet placement and positioning; other members of Team USA had paused to watch, or in some cases, whisper and smirk to one another.

He glared at one of the male gymnasts, what was his name? Parker? “You looking for something?” Bucky said, standing in front of Kamala while she stretched. “Get your kicks elsewhere, buddy.”

Parker, the scrawny runt, just turned red and nodded hastily. “Oh, sorry, Coach. I wasn’t–please don’t think–“

“Move!” Bucky barked.

That was the thing with female gymnastics, wasn’t it? Perverts everywhere. Though from what Maximoff and the girls said, Parker was actually supposed to be a decent kid; A walking disaster, but nice.

Bucky walked a fine line as a male coach to this team. When he’d _finally_ been selected, three years ago, he’d been sweating bullets. Not because he didn’t think he could do it, but because he _knew_ he was the best option, but that people would lean away from him being their Coach because of his gender. He got it, he understood, but still.

He had a lot of legal and ethical lines he could _not_ cross. Hence why the rest of the trainers were female. They did a lot of stuff he couldn’t. Bucky was careful, obviously. He’d never want to be a creep to his team, and he rarely, if ever, even touched them to correct their positions. He knew the rules and fuckin’ respected ‘em.

More than once he’s had to frighten off skeeves who came to events to ogle. Fuckin’ weirdoes.

 

But there were still people passing by a lot, today. And all of them looked very amused.

“Okay, what the fuck?” Bucky huffed.

Kamala wiped a towel over her face, ready to take a rest.

She looked over at a couple athletes that were chuckling, but who hastily moved on at Bucky’s glare.

“Dunno, Coach,” she shrugged. But Bucky saw her cover her smile behind her towel. He peered down at her.

“Lunch!” Sami bellowed from across the mats. 

Bucky watched Kamala dash off, fully aware that she was hiding something.

 

When he sat down at their usual table, the girls were ploughing into their variations on chicken salad.

“What is going on?” he said, annoyance clear on his face.

None of them looked him in the eye, but they were all grinning into their lettuce.

Maximoff looked up from across from him. “So now you want to talk about it?”

Bucky frowned, “Talk about what?”

Wanda’s brow rose archly. “You did see it, yes?” Her accent always got so much thicker when she was being a smart-ass.

“See _what?_ ” Bucky hissed.

The women at the table all looked at one another.

“He’s gonna be mad, though,” Rosa intoned. “’S gonna ruin lunch.”

“Well, he’s gotta see it, still,” Emily said.

Wanda sighed. “All right, I’ll go get it,” and before Bucky could harangue her more, she got up and walked over to their bench of supplies. 

She returned with a newspaper and handed it over.

“Sports page,” she said calmly, sliding into her seat.

“This is yesterday’s,” Bucky frowned.

He hadn’t even thought to check the news on how they’d done in Toronto. Obviously it was standard procedure to keep an eye on results.

Bucky yanked the paper open, discarding the other sections. Front page of the sports section, there was a photo of the Canadian gymnastics team high-fiving one another. The girls in their sparkly red outfits really stood out. Bucky frowned and skimmed the piece. _Yadda-yadda, surprise placement for an underdog team, blah bla_. A bit about each medal, about the event overall, but nothing, really, out of the ordinary.

Bucky cocked a brow and eyed Wanda. “This is nothing.”

Was he meant to be surprised, or something?

Wanda smirked, still chewing her crunchy salad. “Page two.”

Bucky frowned and opened up the section.

There, on the lower half of page two was a picture of him. 

Oh.

And Rogers.

It was from Saturday, from when Bucky’d gone over to chew Rogers out. His hands were in his pants pockets. See, this was why Bucky never pointed fingers or made crazy faces. Photographers get one shot like that and you earn a rep for being a jackass.

“What the hell?” Bucky lifted the paper to read the editorial blurb. Were they gonna start comparing captains and coaches already? Jesus, the Olympics qualifying hadn’t even started. 

 

 

> _Pictured: Steve Rogers, Coach for the Canadian Women’s Gymnastics Team and James Barnes, Coach for Team USA_.

 

Bucky skimmed the piece, but his eyes kept jumping around.

 

 

> _Rogers, the newest addition to Team Canada’s coaching ranks, was seen cheering on his squad as they cleared more than a few hoops to land podium spots in all events at the Toronto GymnasticsChampionships on Saturday._
> 
> _Rogers, fresh-faced as ever, was spotted chatting it up with Team USA Coach, none other than James Buchanan Barnes, a popular draw to any gymnastic event._
> 
> _It’s not rare for opposing team coaches to talk shop, but it is quite rare to see Barnes interacting with others on the floor at championships. Known for his driven mentality and work ethic, Barnes typically keeps to himself. Now it’s not known if these two have worked together, though it is likely their paths have crossed, both having been immersed in gymnastics from a young age. However, the tension between them was definitely palpable. What exactly can we expect from these two coaches, and what do their teams think of them getting caught mingling on work time? Well, we’ll see, won’t we?_

 

Bucky almost tore the paper in half.

“This is such bullshit. Who writes crap like this? Ugh.”

He threw the paper aside, its pages fluttering apart.

“Don’t be a drama-queen,” Wanda said.

“Besides, the article’s not the big deal,” Rosa said calmly.

“Yeah, you gotta get the hot gossip online, Coach,” Sami murmured.

Now because cellphones were banned while they were training, Bucky had to hold himself still. 

“Jesus,” he breathed darkly. “Give me the top-line gossip.”

“Okay, well…” Kamala started.

“The internet thinks you’re both super cute,” Sami blurted. “‘’Cos Coach Rogers is so nice and blonde and pretty, and you’re, well, I guess, you.”

The girls generally, due to their age, weren’t super sold by the fame Bucky had garnered over the course of his career. So his fandom, or whatever they were called, weirded them out.

There was a lot of shit online about Bucky, starting from when he actually dated celebrities to the photos of him in his prime and whenever paps snapped him working out at the gym. Whatever they could get, the media loved him.

So why the big fuss with Rogers?

Bucky rolled his eyes. This all sounded stupid. 

He made a mental note to check it out later.

 

* * *

 

_Jesus-fucking-Christ!_

He should have checked earlier.

He was home, finally washed and relaxed, enjoying the evening on his twentieth storey balcony. His dinner of green beans and steak had been adequate, if bland. His comfy sweatpants made him feel like he was home, cozy and warm.

But his cellphone was his Goddamn enemy right now.

The internet was a cesspool. Only online could a simple photo of him and another coach devolve into ludicrous reams of bullshit.

There were people tweeting hysterically, blindly, about the few photos that had made it onto about a bazillion websites.

All of the images were so boring, just the two coaches in frame, but apparently, that was enough to incite entire blogs and arguments and comments on news sites, and other social media.

 

He rubbed at his mouth, reading some comments on a news site.

 

 

> “Man, if either of these dudes was my coach, I’d bend myself inside out just for the opportunity.”
> 
> -
> 
> “Holy hell, major Team USA supporter here. *waves* Not gonna lie, though. Considering this Rogers guy, hoo-whee! Call me maple and cover me in syrup.”
> 
> -

 

“How is this a reputable news source?” Bucky whispered hoarsely.

He scrolled through a bunch more, before finding a link to another social media site.

 

> _@SpiderGal_
> 
> #TeamUSA or #TeamCanada?

 

> _@MissteeKnite_
> 
> #TeamBoneAlready amirite?

 

Bucky’s twitter was lighting up. The PR team was going to have a field day with this.

On another site, it seemed to be much worse, with images and edits done to the original photos. Ugh, one even had a heart drawn around him and Rogers.

 

 

> @LadyMacBethNugget
> 
> So we’re all seeing this, right? I mean, I’m not going insane? Because how, HOW, do we get so lucky? TWO hot gym coaches? TWO? You know this means they’re gonna be at, like, all the events now? Meaning I’m gonna get to see them ON TV?? In my living room?? 

 

> @MordotheLover
> 
> Wait, this is gymnastics, right? So do these guys have like, photos of _them_ doing bendy shit on beams and rings and that pole swinging thing?

 

> @TokSvig 
> 
> Yeah hell they do! Big Barnes fan here. I’ve been watching him since I was a kid. He is so fine, my eyeballs bleed. But Rogers, too. I mean, he wasn’t anything near as good as Barnes, plus he was mostly famous for working with the British team a million years ago, but yeah. He’s grown into one helluva man. If you google way back, you’ll see what I’m talking about. That man has been seriously eating his wheaties. #notcomplaining

 

 

> | @JaxBae
> 
> They’re totally boning. Come on. Look at them. 
> 
> | @BumblinFool
> 
> Receipts. Gimme the receipts or it never happened.
> 
> | @JaxBae: @BumblinFool
> 
> Oh, I’ll be needing evidence too. For science.

 

 

And on and on and on it went. It was freakin’ _trending_ on twitter.

Bucky texted Wanda, fingers shaky and angry.

 

 

> Bucky:
> 
> _#TEAMBENDY? Wtf???_
> 
>  
> 
> _Maximoff:_
> 
> _;)))))_
> 
>  
> 
> _Bucky:_
> 
> _This isn’t funny!_
> 
>  
> 
> _Maximoff:_
> 
> _Uh, yes it is._
> 
>  
> 
> _p.s. I’m going to print out your text and frame it above my fireplace._
> 
>  
> 
> _Bucky:_
> 
> _You don’t even have a fireplace!_
> 
>  
> 
> _Maximoff:_
> 
> _I’ll build one, then._

 

* * *

 

Bah.

Bucky was in a foul mood for the rest of the week. How could Rogers still be pissing him off? Meet the guy, like twice and this happens.

Now he understood all the stupid looks people were giving him. Parker and friends scuttled away when Bucky snapped at them more than once.

“You need to let it go,” Maximoff said on Friday. “don’t lose focus.”

“I’m _trying_ ,” Bucky growled, refilling the chalk bowl.

Except, he kind of wasn’t.

This whole thing was infuriating. Where did people get off saying the shit they were saying? He’d already had an awkward chat with _his_ boss about what he may or may not be getting up to with the rival team’s Coach. AS IF!

Bucky was sick to his stomach.

So he wasn’t really good at letting things go.

He hated himself for it, but for the weeks following, he actually tracked the hashtag for him and Rogers, reading the crazy shit people came up with.

He barely used his twitter, except for public events, but finding Rogers had a public twitter too didn’t help.

Rogers hadn’t said a peep on the gossip. Just kept plugging away at charity events and how his team was practising. Bucky didn’t click the little ‘follow’ button.

 

And on the second week, when he’d damn near exhausted himself yelling at the girls for messing about on the beam, Wanda had kicked him out to get fresh air.

“Out!” she snapped. “Take a walk.”

 

* * *

 

He hated this.

It was two days until the World Championships and he’d had to deal with visitors and sponsors and politicians all damn day. He never thought he’d ever have to sit through as many _‘watch those Canadian bastards, har har_ ’ jokes as he had today.

His jaw was sore from all the fake smiles. The girls had been handed their new team uniforms, which always made them grin awkwardly in front of the cameras. It was rare for any of them to like whatever the sponsors handed them. Honestly, they were lucky everything fit properly this time.

Their uniforms were all shiny lamé and midnight blue with white and red stars scattered over their shoulders. Not the worst he’d ever seen. Wanda and he still shook their heads over the uniforms from two Olympics ago when the whole of Team USA had giant red stars plastered over their crotches. What a nightmare.

He was home now, though, sitting on his balcony in the dark. The little fake-flame lamp he had flickered away on his tiny table. 

Bucky was washed, clean and sated.

He’d considered heading out to find himself a warm body to keep him company, but he was just too exhausted.

Especially since five nights ago a hot brunette at the Izakaya bar had asked him if he had Coach Rogers’ _fucking phone number._

He was also wrapped up in a warm blanket because the nights were getting cold, fast. And he was a giant fucking baby.

He always liked sitting out at night, come snow or moonshine.

This particular evening, he was biting his lip.

Normally, when championships came up, he was ready. He never let the pressure get to him, because if it got to him, it’d get to the girls, and they’d just fall apart.

But this time was different.

He was sick of the jokes and questions and the fuckin’ _insinuations_.

Hell, it wasn’t even the fact people giggled about him maybe being with some dude, maybe being gay. Being gay wasn’t a problem. Maybe Bucky wasn’t gay, but so what? People were gay. Get over it. It was simply because said dude was _that_ blonde jackass from Canada. He was the Goddamn enemy who questioned Bucky’s practices and made ridiculous commentary about Bucky’s coaching skills.

Bucky thought Rogers was a shithead, even if it looked like no one agreed with him.

It was times like this he wished he had more than just work colleagues. Natasha would be a good person about now, but they didn’t exchange much more than banter, and only at events. Certainly not contact information.

He’d tried to talk to Maximoff earlier in the week about how annoying Canadians were in general, when she’d just retorted with, “You know he’s not Canadian, right?”

Which had really confused Bucky.

So here he was on his balcony, googling Steve Rogers on his tiny cellphone.

How had he not already done this? 

Because he hated _thinking_ about the guy, never mind reading shit about his stupid Goddamn _life_.

 

Wikipedia was obviously the most neutral place to go.

 

 

> _Steven Grant Rogers, born in Brooklyn, New York._

 

Huh, he was a couple years younger than Bucky.

 

 

> _Rogers’ work experience is varied, as he trained from High School to become a national gymnast. Due to his health, however, Rogers was unable to qualify for anything beyond regional championships, even then, barely making it possible to travel as he came from a low-income family._
> 
> _Due to his love for the sport, however, he turned to training, earning his Bachelor of Sports Science at Long Island University. His focus was sports management, strength training and coaching._
> 
> _Most notably, Rogers worked alongside famed British gymnast, Margaret Carter, assisting her in her training and working on her program at the Sydney Olympics. Carter has spoken fondly of Rogers stating that he is one of the many reasons she was able to clinch three golds that year, a highlight in her professional career._
> 
> _Rogers has ties with many of the international Gymnastics teams, including Russia, having spent five years rotating through many assistant coaching positions before being selected to replace Maria Hill as Head Coach for the Canadian Female Gymnastics Team._
> 
>  

The more Bucky read, the more infuriating this was becoming.

So fuck, Rogers wasn’t even Canadian? Was everything a Goddamn lie? Not that he _had_ to be. After all, Maximoff wasn’t American.

But it was warping Bucky’s view of the guy.

The one thing that really stuck in his craw was the realization that this fucker was associated with _Carter_. 

He’d missed the name at first, not clicking. Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter, of course. Bucky made a face as he skimmed an article Rogers had been mentioned in, but was actually focused on Carter’s more recent endeavours working for the IOC.

Makes sense. Peggy Carter was the bitch who’d stolen all of Bucky’s glory. 

The plucky British doll who’d not only wowed the judges with her skill, but also her outspoken teardown of the corruptness in women’s athletics.

Her political soapboxing had dominated the news circuit that year, completely overshadowing Bucky’s day in the limelight.

He should have been the one on the nightly news, but no, the British looker with the smug attitude was everywhere instead.

Lucky for him, he worked with whatever he could get, clawing to stay afloat, to get himself out there, on the circuit, pimping himself out to whatever sponsors were looking.

He wanted to lob his phone off the balcony.

His browser indicated he may be interested in a similar article.

It was that photo again.

The one of him and Rogers talking.

Rogers was the one smiling slightly, eyes soft and friendly while standing there overloaded with giant bags and gear. Bucky didn’t recall him smiling. Had he missed that? A lot of the blogs had commented on the size of him, over and over again. He really wasn’t much bigger than Bucky. He just wore skintight blue sweaters that matched his eyes.

Bucky zoomed in, scanning the image. Rogers’ biceps were fuckin’ massive. He could think it by himself. It _was_ mildly impressive.

He’d seen the pictures. 

A scrawny Steve Rogers from some high school yearbook. The guy had been a real runt back then.

Bucky couldn’t remember, not once, ever seeing the guy at any events. They were close enough in age and region to have, maybe, been at the same ones.

And yet in _this_ photo, a tall, solid guy seemed to be listening intently, paying all his attention to James Barnes, Coach for America.

Bucky couldn’t remember everything he’d said to the guy, only that it hadn’t been super friendly.

Every review he read, every comment any of Rogers’ gymnasts made, all preached about how kind the guy was. How different he was. How he never yelled, never pushed his athletes too hard, never took a step out of line. He was all about strength and balance and clarity.

_Fuck._ Bucky was like that, though! Why didn’t they ever write that about _him?_

He knew what it was like, being trained day in and day out for thirty seconds of Goddamn glory. He never pushed his girls. He never made them cry. He bet Romanov made her athletes cry.

Sure, he expected the best from them, but he’d never heard a bad word from them. Their moms? Sure, okay.

But all the papers and blogs ever wrote about him was whether or not the celebrity he’d been spotted with was his girlfriend, or how much Olympic Coaches earned, or what product he used in his hair. 

He distinctly recalled the day Seventeen magazine had done some bullshit story on him, asking him who his dream crush was, what size shoes he wore and what brand of toothpaste he preferred. Maximoff and the girls had howled about that one for _weeks._

Bucky had a _brand_ to uphold. He hadn’t bought this condo on his dreams alone.

Looking at the tiny picture of Rogers, it made Bucky’s insides rumble unevenly. Why was this guy messing him up?

Everyone said he was so Goddamn _sweet_ and yet Bucky had yet to see it. All Bucky got was snark and attitude.

_And him staring at my ass_ , he reminded himself. As weird as it was, it made Bucky feel better, smug, even. Because no matter how fuckin perfect this Rogers was, Bucky knew he had a hard-on for America’s Dreamboat.

Yeah. That’s _right_. Rogers totally looked at Bucky like he wanted to eat him out. He shifted in his seat. _Of course he looked._

Bucky knew he had a face that others would kill for. You don’t get to model men’s underwear if don’t have what Bucky had.

Bucky wondered if Rogers had ever seen that campaign. The underwear one. God, Bucky remembers seeing his own clothed crotch on display in Times Square. It had been unreal. And massive.

“Probably yanks to it,” he mumbled to himself, chewing on his nail.

Rogers probably didn’t have a campaign like that; too squeaky-clean. Bucky refrained from googling that. Barely.

He shifted again and switched off his phone when a familiar throb wound through his hips.

Yeah.

He hadn’t had sex in, like, a month. Dry spells sucked.

He just worked too much. His dick throbbed some more, reminding him that his bed was literally ten feet indoors.

Looking out at the cloudy night sky, he sighed. 

“Might as well,” he said to nobody, and stood up, switching off his little lamp before slouching back inside.

His condo was so clean, it was like he had a maid service. But really, Bucky was just never home long enough to mess it up.

His grey blankets were still a haphazard mess on his bed, though.

He flopped over, adding his current blanket to the pile. He squirmed under the covers, thinking he’d have to switch on the heating in the morning. But for now, he liked the warmth around him.

He got comfy, one hand beside his head, the other already palming himself through his sweats. Blood rushed south and he all but whined at the sensation.

It had been a while, apparently.

He rarely got himself off anymore, since he had a myriad of girls on speed dial for such an occasion.

He didn’t ponder why he hadn’t tried to contact any of them. He just sank down into the feeling of his fingers skating down his stomach and up again, scratching at the dark hairs heading south. He pulled his t-shirt up and sighed.

A good orgasm would help settle him. Why he hadn’t done this sooner was proof of his current state of mind. He needed to _relax_.

“Mmm,” he hummed when he pushed his hand under his waistband. He gripped himself, already keening into the warmth of his fingers.

He bit his lip, imagining himself undressing someone in lacy underwear. Someone with slim, tan legs and freckled arms. It didn’t matter who she was, all that mattered was that she kissed him, held his face and ran her fingers through his hair.

He imagined her climbing on top and riding him, sliding over his cock, using all her energy to pleasure him. His hand matched the motions in his mind and Bucky groaned, eyelids fluttering.

His left hand shifted higher, pressing over his pecs, massaging his nipple.

His hips lifted as he pumped himself slowly. He would take his time, why not?

Girls always liked the way his body looked. They always caressed his abs, his pecs, always cooed at how _strong_ he was. They always liked it when he could pick ‘em up, easy as pie. Could press them into walls, counters, floors. Oh, yeah, Bucky loved that. 

He could imagine hands pressing over a strong, firm stomach, gripping pecs, squeezing them like tits. And hands running along ribs, making muscles jump. Bucky’s breath hitched and his hands moved a little faster.

He imagined warm fingers caressing muscles and squeezing hard. He imagined pressing himself down, chest-to-chest, grinding his dick into their warmth, feeling them respond, breathing in his ear. His hands would grab those tits, those muscles and he’d run his fingers up a neck, scratch along short hair and he’d stare them down while he fucked them, blue eyes staring back at him, dark and sweet; blonde hair tight between his gripping fingers.

Bucky’s eyes flew open as his hips jerked, and his orgasm crashed into him unexpectedly, surprising and knocking him into a deep moan of quivering pleasure.

His sweats soaked up most of the mess, but Bucky didn’t care, his hand pushing, tugging him through the sensations rippling through his groin and up his spine to his heart.

He shuddered.

Then, he just lay there, shocked and shivering.

“ _Jesus,_ ” he huffed, catching his breath. _What the hell was that?_

He tried to catch his breath, sliding his wet hand out of his sweats. He was jittery. He closed his eyes, trying to not think about what had just derailed what would have been a nicely drawn-out session.

Blonde hair? Blue eyes? Fucking muscle-bound Adonis lying prone beneath him, fucking back like it was totally natural?

Bucky was losing his _mind_ right now. He couldn’t think it, no. But it _had_ fucking happened.

He’d managed to get himself off _spectacularly, wonderfully_ , in _moments_ because Steve Goddamn Grant Rogers had invaded his mind, yet again!

 

“Sonuvabitch!” he yelled to his empty room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies. I really thought this was going to be two chapters, but I've gotten away from myself. So enjoy more than I thought! Thank you to those who have commented/kudosed this. You are my Heroes. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who may have never, ever seen the blue sweater, allow me to oblige:  
>   
> 
> 
> You're welcome.

The girls were all but bouncing off the walls.

Bucky spent half the morning getting them settled in the hotel, making sure they had their tracksuits on right and were clean and ready for the day ahead.

The whole Team USA coaching staff had been briefed on the schedules and details pertaining to the championships ahead. Everything had to move like clockwork. This was where Maximoff came in. She was brutally efficient and wouldn’t let even Bucky get in the way of her marching everyone into line and making sure Team USA represented itself perfectly.

The big event started tomorrow, with Gymnastics events spread out over the next five days.

So today was all about promotion, interviews and introductions.

Being the hosting nation for the World Championships put a lot of pressure on the Americans. They would be the focus of all the TV stations and reporters. The paps would be out in full force, even for something like this, which wasn’t anywhere near as big as the Olympics. But New York loved its events. Bucky’d heard the whole five days were sold out, all seats filled. This was great, of course, but it terrified the girls.

“My Ma’s going to be in the audience!” Sami squeaked as Maximoff yanked her zipper up to her neck.

“Yes, you’ve said that forty-million times,” Rosa grimaced, trying to tame her wayward locks.

Presentation was everything.

“All right, team,” Bucky said, pacing in front of them. “We’re gonna go out there today and put our best foot forward. Remember, you’re representing the United States of America. You will be polite, you will smile and you will not be caught making asses of yourselves, you understand me?”

They all nodded. 

Bucky looked them over. “You don’t wanna learn the hard way how one small mistake can stretch over your entire career. There will be nosy interviewers who will ask terrible, personal questions. You do not have to answer them. There will be photographers taking pictures of you all the time. Be wary, okay? If it all gets to be too much, let me or Coach Maximoff know. You don’t have to have meltdowns. Got it?”

“Yes, Coach,” the girls said in unison.

“All right, then,” he clapped. “Let’s bust some ass.”

 

* * *

 

The day felt like it dragged on _forever_. All the visiting teams had to go through the same rigamarole. Alphabetically, they traipsed into the press conference room to get bombarded with stupid questions.

Then they had to sit for team photos. Team USA had one big photo of all the athletes and coaches, then the individual teams had separate photos taken. Bucky kept his face neutral, hands behind his back, as he stood behind the girls, all four of them seated in front of him and Maximoff. In their team colours, chins up, just like he taught them, he knew they looked good.

He got pulled aside many times to be interviewed by all the local stations. He was hot property in New York, being not only a superstar gymnast, but a homegrown native too.

He flirted with the reporters and made sure he mentioned their sponsors when appropriate. Couldn’t hurt.

It was tiring, being on your best behaviour all the time. More than once he had to clip a reporter off for asking bullshit questions of his team. One more question about whether or not these teenage girls felt comfortable being _role models_ and he was going to shank someone. They were kids, Goddamnit. Why did the media always want to put more pressure on them? Wasn’t it hard enough being on the international stage like this? Jesus.

He even did a good job of rebuffing repeated attempts by reporters who wanted to question him on his relationship, or lack thereof, with the Team Canada Coach. _God._

Luckily, Bucky’s fear of bumping into Rogers hadn’t come to life. Getting snapped _with_ Rogers would not make this week get off to a good start.

Their alphabetical order forced both teams to be hours apart in all their sessions, so Bucky didn’t see hide nor hair of the Canadians all day.

He _did_ get a moment to pause for photos with Romanov, though. Her team, in their silvery whites looked ice cold and deadly. 

“If looks could kill, huh?” Bucky murmured as photographers’ cameras snapped.

“You should be worried, Barnes,” Romanov said through her teeth, smiling prettily as ever.

 

* * *

 

The girls kept it together all day, not once taking a misstep. Bucky would be proud if he wasn’t so damn _hungry._ As a treat, he took them all out for dinner at his favourite sushi joint. One night of calm before the big day.

He toasted them, allowing the girls a tiny sip of _sake_ each. Hey, Maximoff was the real role model here, not him.

 

And by ten, all four girls were tucked up in bed, back at the hotel. He finished up the last briefing with the coaching staff and bid everyone a good evening.

Walking down the conference hallways found in all hotels like theirs, Bucky flicked through his phone.

Well-wishers were tweeting him wildly, and a handful of texts came in.

He got into the elevator and finally let his shoulders release. They’d been tense all day. Maybe a run in the early morning would ease his muscles.

The elevator dinged at his floor and Bucky stepped out into the cavernous silence. 

He took a left, remembering his room was on the South side, just down from the girls and Maximoff. 

When he made another right, he heard footsteps muffled by the thick carpeting. He looked up, seeing a tall guy in a baseball cap coming his way.

 

The guy looked up and did a bit of a double-take.

Bucky’s stomach bottomed out.

Rogers kept walking, nodding as he passed. “Coach Barnes,” he murmured, voice deep and dark in Bucky’s ears.

“Suck my dick,” Bucky retorted, not sure if it was meant as a scathing response or a diversionary request.

He heard Rogers sigh, but kept walking.

 

Fuck, Bucky really had to work on his people skills.

 

* * *

 

The crowd was loud, cheering madly.

 

Today wasn’t their busiest, so Bucky was content to watch everything from the sidelines. He was even asked by news crews what he thought of the men’s events currently going on, having a word or two about Parker’s recent ranking on the parallel bars. Being a bit famous in the world of men’s gymnastics had its high points. There had always been gossip floating around about a possible career in commentating. One day. Bucky kept that under his hat. He wanted to get this team going, first. This was his chance to show the world he still had more to give to this sport.

 

Sami was up for the uneven bars.

The competition was stiff. The tiny Canadian had had her turn already, Rogers (not in a skintight sweater this time, but in the black and red Team Canada uniform) had been there, as always, to hoist her up. That girl was so light, her flips so perfectly executed, Bucky’d had to calm Sami down a little more.

“You’ve got this,” Bucky said to the quivering girl. “You’ve done it a million times, over and over. Watch, I bet your arms and legs know it better’n you, huh?” 

Sami just blinked up at him, her eyes flicking over the crowd cheering wildly.

“Hey,” Bucky knelt on one knee. “You’re strong. You’ve got the power,” he raised his fist and she smiled, fist-bumping back. 

“Coach, it’s weird when you’re nice,” she said.

Bucky snorted and stood up. “Fine. Go kick Canada’s ass.”

“Got it,” she nodded and with her head held high, made her way over to the bars.

When she cleared her landing and finished with a flourish, Bucky bellowed and cheered along with the rest of the crowd.

Sami was beaming when she came running back, though her legs were shaking.

They watched the scores attentively, knowing it was going to be close.

Bucky’s jaw tightened.

Second place.

 

Sami was shaking, but still smiling. “I medalled!” she said proudly.

Bucky nodded and smiled, trying to not let his disappointment show. She _did_ medal. That was awesome. But the Canadian clinched it.

He looked over to where the Canadian team was jumping up and down. Rogers was grinning like a complete idiot.

 

* * *

 

“So, a slow start on the first day, but that’s not all bad,” Romanov said from across the table. This hotel bar was much homier than the last one. A lot of smaller tables and cushy chairs made it easy to settle down, get some rest after a long day.

Maximoff sipped her Long Island iced tea and nodded. 

“You’re banking on the beam tomorrow, aren’t you?” Bucky said head resting on his hand as he leaned into the armrest.

“We probably shouldn’t be mingling,” Romanov said with a smile, winking over her drink.

“Not when you jerks keep stealing all the cheese,” Bucky snorted, leaning over to grab a nacho. “Russians, honestly.”

Bucky realized a lot, if not all of the Gymnastics teams were holed up in this hotel. Made sense for proximity to the arena, but was kind of stupid if people weren’t supposed to be fraternizing with the enemy.

All the athletes had to be in bed by now, but still. He didn’t really want to talk shop after dinner.

“The men’s team is doing well,” Maximoff said. 

“So far,” Romanov said, raising a brow. 

“Again, you’re hoping the beam’s gonna get Russia back in the game, aren’t you?” Bucky joked again. Beam had been Romanov’s specialty back in the day. He remembered watching her perform. No one has ever come close to what she could do. Not even Carter was that good, in her prime.

Romanov just shrugged. “It’s nice to know the media aren’t allowed up here.”

It was true. The hotel was off-limits after five for all reporters and agents. That meant everyone could let their hair down a bit.

Bucky eyed the Australian team coaches, over by the wood floor, dancing to whatever pop song was blasting through the room. They were a cool bunch.

“Uh oh, here comes trouble,” Maximoff said softly, putting her drink down.

Romanov and Bucky turned toward the door.

“Narc alert,” Romanov whispered, grinning at Bucky. 

Bucky recognized a few faces of the International Olympic Committee. He was surprised any of them would dare mingle with the likes of him and the other teams.

Even the way they carried themselves was more uptight than necessary.

“Is that Peggy Carter?” Maximoff leaned over, peering.

Bucky sneered. “Yup. Queen bee, making her patrol.”

“I didn’t know she was staying here,” Maximoff said.

 

Because yes, there was Peggy Carter, aging beautifully, her hair still in perfect waves, her lipstick red as ever. She sat with her colleagues, the perfect example of primness. Bucky saw it as a farce, of course. She was hard as balls and nothing to be messed with.

 

“Ugh,” Bucky turned back to his tequila. 

“Did you ever hook up with her?” Romanov said, twisting to face him.

“Oh God, no,” Bucky grimaced.

Romanov eyed him. “Did you try?”

Bucky sipped his drink. Both women stared him down.

“Okay, look,” he began, “It was my first Olympics, right. Of course I _tried_ to hit on her. But that was before I knew she was a stone-cold bitch.”

Maximoff raised a brow. “You know, I consider her one of the best athletes on earth, yes?” she said calmly.

“You know she pioneered equality in gymnastics, citing rules and regulations that were continuously ignored in favour of demeaning and belittling female athletes, right?” Romanov added icily. “You know the only reason Wanda and I can even be here right now is because she broke the doors wide open on selective trainers being chosen on gender alone? It was such a boys club back then, we’d never have made it past our leotards.”

Bucky scrubbed a hand down his face.

“Okay! Jesus, all right!” Fuck, he knew all that was true. It was just … stupid. Stupid that he was still angry at the British chick who had rebuffed him and gone on to explode her fame and intellect into a high-positioned career in the fucking Olympic committee.

“What do you say?” Romanov pressed, poking his knee with a well-manicured nail.

“ _Sorry_ ,” he mumbled through his fingers. He could _feel_ the smirks passing between the two women. He chugged back the rest of his drink, waving to the waiter for a new one.

“Watch yourself tonight,” Maximoff huffed. 

“I do what I want,” Bucky retorted. “You two are such buzz-kills.”

“Speaking of buzz-kills,” Romanov said, and Bucky felt goosebumps rise on his skin. He looked up. Her smirk gave him chills.

“Natasha,” came a now-familiar, warm and dark voice. Bucky’s stomach did a backflip.

“Hey, Romanov!” an unfamiliar voice chimed in. “Long time!”

Bucky shifted and looked up over his shoulder. Expectedly, Rogers stood there, hands in jean pockets, a dark grey sweater clinging to his barrel chest and arms. Bucky craned his neck further to see the guy standing beside him. This guy was all smiles, leaning over to hug Romanov like old pals.

When he pulled back, he caught Bucky staring and his eyes went round.

“Oh wow!” he cried, coming round, jostling Rogers to get closer, to face Bucky. “James Barnes! Whoa! Nice to meet you, man!” he leaned in, hand extended. Bucky slowly sat up, wary. Then grasped the man’s hand in greeting. “Sam Wilson. Big fan, big fan.”

“You’ve said that to everyone you’ve met today,” Rogers huffed. Bucky looked up, but saw Rogers had a small smile on his lips, like he found this guy’s behaviour amusing.

“Hey, I’m allowed to be impressed, all right?” he spotted Maximoff and again, smiled so wide it was like he was watching the sun set for the first time. “Wanda Maximoff! Hey, girl!”

 

Bucky was so confused by all the commotion and noise.

 

He didn’t try to be civil, but he also refrained from being a dick this time. He just waited for the two men to wander over to the bar, promising the women fresh drinks.

 

Then the women were on him like wolves.

“So,” Romanov leaned in.

“That was good behaviour,” Maximoff said.

“Surprising,” Romanov added.

“Oh fuck off,” Bucky grumbled.

They both laughed, poking Bucky some more.

Whatever.

 

Why couldn’t Rogers go someplace else? Why’d he have to lean over the bar like that, long legs right on display, back muscles highlighted under that thin sweater by the spotlights above the bar?

And who was this Wilson dude? Definitely not a gymnast, Bucky would remember a guy like that. He peered over at the two men, Wilson slapping Rogers on the back as they laughed.

Was that Rogers’ boyfriend? Fuck, he hadn’t known the guy wasn’t single. Weird.

 

* * *

 

It was really late.

Bucky knew this instinctually. He’d been slouching deeper and deeper into his seat all night, just throwing back drinks.

Wanda had left hours ago, exasperated but unable to stop him. So what? He was an adult.

He’d even had a couple chicks chatting him up over the course of the evening, but Bucky forgot where they’d gone. Strange. He hadn’t even asked their names.

He sat up and shook his head. 

Romanov had left twenty minutes ago, citing work in the morning. Duh. They all had work. Was she dumb?

The waiter wasn’t coming round anymore. Bucky needed a drink, damnit.

He got to his feet and wobbled a little. Okay. Right. Maybe not. He glanced at his watch. Fuck. Midnight. What the hell? He should get going; pay the tab.

The bar felt like miles away, but he managed.

He even recognized one of the patrons sitting there, alone.

Bucky slid into the seat next to the guy. He was watching the TV over the bar, face turned away.

Bucky looked him over. Strong, thick back stretching underneath that grey sweater, all strength coiled up.

Bucky smirked when the guy realized someone was beside him.

“Hi,” Bucky said cockily, leaning back into the spinny barstool. His brain felt just the right amount of fluffy and gooey in his skull.

Rogers looked him over quizzically. “You’re wasted,” he said simply.

God, the arms on this guy! Bucky bit his lip, letting his eyes appreciate drunk what he couldn’t even consider sober.

Bucky’s eyes skimmed over Rogers’ chest. “I see you got your dreamkillers out tonight,” Bucky said with a bite to his lip.

Rogers frowned and pursed his lips.

“You’re real funny, Barnes,” he said. He shook his head and took a swig of beer. Bucky wondered how long he’d been sitting here at the bar? It was hard to recall.

There’d been a lot of drinks and banter all evening, but no chit-chat with Rogers at all. Disappointing, really.

“What?” Bucky smirked, “You got amazing tits, Rogers.”

The other man glared over at him now, full attention. Bucky smirked, lolling back, legs opening freely as he swivelled in his seat.

“Why are you here?” Rogers asked. “Thought you hated me.”

Bucky pouted, “I do hate you,” he said, sitting forward. “A lot, actually,” he hissed. He licked his lips, forearm coming to rest on Rogers’ shoulder. From this proximity, he could smell the other man’s cologne. It was clean, fresh.

What Bucky noticed was that Rogers didn’t exactly move away, even if his face was all frowny.

“I making you uncomfortable?” Bucky asked.

Rogers cleared his throat and drank from his beer bottle again. “You’re being a jerk,” Rogers said simply.

“Why?” Bucky asked. He resisted the urge to touch the blonde hair right in front of him. Rogers had obviously gotten a recent haircut.

“You know why,” Rogers said, finally turning to look him in the eye.

Bucky stared into those dark blue eyes, and swallowed.

“Because you want to get in my pants, huh?” Bucky grinned coyly. “It’s hilarious. You gotta admit it.”

“Ha-ha,” Rogers sighed.

Bucky sat back. Okay, this wasn’t garnering much of a response. His jeans felt tight, though. Uncomfortable.

“Oh, come on, loosen those panties a little. Come on, let me buy you a drink.”

Rogers eyed him carefully.

“Come on, a toast to your team, or whatever. Kicked our ass today.” Bucky indicated to the bartender. Two tequilas.

Rogers looked skeptical, peered over at him, like he was unsure.

“It’s just a drink, Rogers. Calm your tits.”

Rogers rolled his eyes, “Okay. Fine. One drink.”

 

* * *

 

“Mmf!” Bucky’s back slammed into the wall, door bouncing heavily before slamming shut. Thank God for hotels, because they wouldn’t have to lock it, it was automatic. Hooray!

Rogers was biting at his lips, all grunts, and hands and fingers and _teeth._

“Christ,” Bucky heaved, scrabbling at the stupid sweater. “Do that again.” 

He kicked at his own shoes, toeing them off easily.

Rogers complied, nipping at Bucky’s lips, chin, neck. “You like that?” he purred into Bucky’s skin, licking, lapping away.

“Uh, yeah,” Bucky breathed, pushing them along the entryway, closer to the bed.

“You ever done this before?” Rogers asked, pushing them along until Bucky felt the bed at the bend in his knees.

His vision was swirly, but he grinned wolfishly. “What? Sex in a hotel room? All the time, buddy.”

Rogers snorted, “No I mean,” and he faded off a bit when Bucky attacked his lips, kissing him slowly, tongue sliding wetly between his teeth. “Uhm, I mean, _Jesus_ , I mean with a man.”

Bucky kept kissing and ran his fingers up that neck and into the short, prickly hair at the nape.

“Nope,” he answered. “But I’m sure you’re about to teach me, huh, Coach?”

Rogers groaned deeply. “You can’t call me that, not like this.”

Bucky tugged at Rogers’ sweater, wrestling the man out of it. He stared for a minute, eyes wide, taking it all in.

“Holy shit,” Bucky breathed. “Look at those tits. Jesus, Rogers.” 

The other man blushed, redness creeping down over his collarbone, but Bucky didn’t mind. He ran his palms up Rogers’ torso, appreciating the smooth, warm skin that swept over the dips and valleys of a body like this. “ _Christ,_ ” he repeated as he grabbed pectorals plump enough to be actual handfuls. “Look at you,” he sounded worshipful, in awe. He bent down to lick at a nipple, and smiled when Rogers keened softly.

“This is the worst idea ever,” Rogers sounded hoarse, his cock pressing a line into Bucky’s thigh. Big hands tugged at Bucky’s hips, grinding them closer. Pretty quickly, Bucky was divested of his own shirt, belt and jeans. Rogers had him on his back on the bed, and Bucky wondered, for a moment, whose hotel room they were in.

“You…” Rogers stammered, looking down at Bucky, eyes traveling over him hungrily. “You don’t have … uh, the tattoo…”

He looked embarrassed to have to say the words.

Bucky frowned, his head woozy with sex. “What?”

Rogers leaned forward and ran his index finger slowly down Bucky’s abdomen, stopping at the waistband of his boxer briefs. Bucky’s dick jumped at the sensation. “No tattoo, here,” Rogers said.

Bucky rolled his eyes, “Oh, for the love of God. Do you believe all that trash the media stirs up about me? No, I do not have a tattoo of an Olympic ribbon above my junk! Jesus, that sounds pathetic!”

Rogers smiled sideways. “Well, I mean, okay. Now I know.”

Bucky wanted to kick him out, just for that, but he also really wanted to feel all that weight pressing him into the mattress.

“Why the fuck are you not naked?” Bucky barked instead.

“Just appreciating the view,” Rogers answered, eyes roaming over Bucky still. “Logging it away in my memories.”

“Don’t be such a pussy,” Bucky sat up and made quick work of Rogers’ belt and jeans, tugging them down in a flourish.

He actually felt his eyes widen when he saw the bulk of Rogers’ dick pressed up tight against his red (God help him) boxer briefs.

“Oh,” he breathed. This was different. Right.

He looked up at Rogers, making full eye contact as he pulled said briefs down. Rogers’ cheeks were pink, his lips all wet and plump from being bitten.

“You sure about this?” Rogers’ eyes went _so round_ when Bucky gently caressed his dick. 

Oh yes, Bucky was sure.

“Suck my dick, Rogers,” Bucky growled, throwing himself back onto the bed. He yanked his own underwear down, finally feeling his cock spring free from its confines. 

Rogers’ mouth fell open.

“Did I stutter?” Bucky grumbled, wiggling up the bed and spreading his legs.

Rogers just slipped down to his knees before gently coaxing Bucky closer with big, warm hands.

Bucky’s breath hiccuped a little when he felt those full lips finally make contact.

“Oh, _yes,_ ” he hissed, hands immediately burying in the soft blonde locks now between his legs.

Shit, Rogers was _good. Really good._ Bucky was panting, hips shifting as his dick was sucked and massaged and treated like a king. “Oh _hh_ ,” his voice cracked a little when Rogers sucked on the tip, just the way he liked. His tongue swirled, wet and disgustingly amazing against his frenulum, lapping up the precome that was undoubtedly bubbling there.

Bucky had never had such an enthusiastic blowjob before. Ever.

It was heavenly.

Fingers fluttered over his hips, tugging him in close, so Bucky obliged, lifting his knees away from the bed and splitting his legs wider. Ah, the joys of being a gymnast.

“That’s it, yeah,” Bucky huffed, egging him on. “Come on, Rogers. Suck me good. So good, _Ah!”_

His hips were shivering now as his orgasm rushed closer, like a deep wave of sensation, rippling, rumbling through his veins.

“Ohhh, _fuck yes._ Just like that. Just like that! Right there. Oh, baby, yes. You’re so good. So _good_. You blow me good, baby. Yes. You’ve wanted this, haven’t you? Wanted to suck me off, make me come. Make me blow my load.”

Bucky’s fingers scraped at Roger’s scalp and the blonde abruptly pulled off, Bucky’s dick popping free from the wetness of his warm mouth.

Rogers was breathing hard, hair a complete fucking mess. His eyes, though, were dark and lust-filled and Bucky felt his skin prickle.

“Jesus,” Rogers panted. “You really do talk like this all the time.”

Bucky wanted to say something snarky, but was cut off by Rogers getting up and clambering over him, blocking out the hideous light from the hotel bathroom. Bucky’s breath caught. 

“You’re driving me insane, James Barnes,” Rogers rumbled, the sound reverberating through their chests. Bucky licked his own lips lasciviously.

“I have a tendency to do that,” Bucky responded, rubbing his hips up to meets Rogers. “Now make me come, you asshole.”

Rogers blinked down at him. “Hmm, I think I can manage that,” he purred before seeking out Bucky’s mouth once more with his sticky lips and filthy, filthy tongue.

 

* * *

 

“Fuck my Life!” Bucky bellowed, trying toget out of the bed without losing his balance.

“Stop yelling!” Rogers bellowed back. “Would you just calm down?”

Bucky was _fuming._

“ _You_ fucking calm down!”

“I am calm!” Rogers retorted, clearly the opposite.

Bucky stomped around the room, trying to dig up his clothing. Because his life is a shitstorm, this _wasn’t_ his Goddamn hotel room.

He bent over to yank on his briefs.

Christ. Everything hurt.

Rogers got up and came round the bed.

“Jesus,” Bucky gasped, turning a glare on the man. “Get dressed!”

“Wait, Barnes, hold up a second,” Rogers said, hands up.

“No, nope. Nope!” Bucky cried, pulling at his jeans. Fuck, he was gonna be late if he didn’t hurry. Good thing Rogers had an insanely early alarm clock just like him. “This is so messed up. I can’t even–what the hell!” he ached so bad.

Once he had his jeans on he turned to glare at Rogers, who was standing there, buck naked, still.

“Did you _fuck me?”_ Bucky bellowed, already sure of it by the way everything south of the border was aching.

Rogers looked broken, sitting on the bed slowly.

“Um,” he murmured. “No, but we, um.”

“Assplay. _Great_. Just great.” Bucky threw on his shirt, getting jammed up in the armhole.

When his head popped through, he scowled harder.

This was so messed up. Christ on a _cracker,_ what was he _thinking_? 

“I cannot–this is just-fuck!”

“Barnes, wait. Just breathe for a second, will you?”

_This guy’s crazy_ , Bucky thought. He’s slept with the enemy! A man! He’d fuckin’ gotten sucked off and done a helluva lot more with a Goddamn _dude!_

“Put some clothes on!” Bucky hissed. Rogers had a fair amount of markings littering his body, with particular attention paid to his pecs, and Bucky flushed. This was so out of control right now. 

“Where’s my room?” Bucky snapped.

“Um, I don’t know,” Rogers said softly.

“Four-seventeen,” Bucky said.

“Oh, uh, just down the hallway, I guess. Turn right.” Rogers looked petulant.

“Fucking _hell,_ Rogers. What were you thinking?” Bucky barked, making sure he had all his shit.

“Clearly, neither of us was thinking,” Rogers retorted with a glare.

“Damn right,” Bucky said, sweeping one more look around the destroyed room.

He turned to stare Rogers down. He didn’t look him over, didn’t appreciate the view. Instead he just said, “This never fucking happened, you hear me?”

Rogers just scowled and nodded.

“ _God,”_ and Bucky swung the hotel door open, checked down the hallway quickly, and left, the door slamming shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup! Thank you everyone for the support on this little story (which got completely out of hand D:)  
> If y'all want to come chat about stuff, I'm over [here on tumblr](http://nejineee.tumblr.com).


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I know nothing about gymnastics or qualifying, or the olympics. Honestly, the fact I even know how to read is the real blessing here. I may have skimmed my eyeballs over some qualifying stuff online, but let's be honest: I didn't understand any of it, so I made up a bunch of rules here. *vague hand-waving*.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

“The blogs are disappointed in you, Coach,” Kamala said around a mouthful of granola bar.

Bucky looked down at her.

“What?” he said bluntly.

It was day three, Rosa’s turn on the vault. 

Kamala shrugged, chewing. “They’re all sad that you and Coach Rogers haven’t been papped together.”

Bucky scowled deeply, that uneasy gritty feeling climbing its way back into his chest. He’d been in better situations, that’s for sure.

“I mean, like, they can’t even get photos of you standing within ten feet of each other. It’s driving the papers and fans nuts,” Kamala said, spitting crumbs all over her team uniform. She was such a smart kid, really, but a complete slob.

And the photos business was totally intentional. For two reasons. One, Bucky didn’t want the photographers to get snaps of them in the same frame. He was _not_ feeding that fire, no way, no how. Two, he was actively avoiding any opportunity for Rogers to get within earshot.

Bad enough he’d seen the Canadian team at breakfast the day before (after _The Thing)_ and this morning.

How was he supposed to get a yoghurt with the blonde ape hanging around?

Rogers was behaving, at least. So far he hadn’t tried to corner Bucky, or _talk_ to him, thank God. Looks like it was completely ice-cold now, the memory of _The Thing_ over and done with.

It made Bucky all wobbly inside whenever his brain kindly supplied him with imagery from that night.

So far, it looked like no one suspected anything. Wanda just figured he was a bag of grouch, and if Rogers wasn’t blabbing, it would all just fucking _disappear_ like all bad, shitty memories.

“Do you honestly think I care what a bunch of strangers on the internet think?” he said calmly, watching Rosa take her position.

“ _Millions_ of strangers,” Kamala added on, also focused on her teammate now.

Team USA held its collective breath as Rosa did her thing.

The sound of the springboard was so loud in Bucky’s ears, like a thunderclap, followed by the sound of her vaulting the table and throwing herself into the air. God, she was good.

This was her second vault and her qualifier for the team’s all-round. So far Sami and Emily were aces. Just Rosa and Kamala needed to get in. Three on vault and they’d be good for this apparatus, and Rosa was their best.

“Boom!” Kamala yelled, jumping up as Rosa stood tall on the mat, having landed expertly, smile wide and proud on her face.

“Yes!” Bucky turned and fist-bumped the girls. 

“There’s no way that isn’t first!” Sami cried out.

When Rosa came jogging over with wobbly knees and her shaking hands, Bucky wrapped her jacket around her shoulders.

They sat, cameras on them as the scores were tabulated.

“Oh my God!” Rosa yelped into her hands, beyond ecstatic. A big gold ring flashed up on the jumbo screen and the crowd went _bananas_.

“That’s my girl,” Bucky said, pride beaming from his grin. The girls wrapped Rosa up, Maximoff coming over for extra hugging time.

“Oh, I am so proud of you,” Wanda said as Rosa teared up, pressing her face to the Assistant Coach’s shoulder. Wanda looked at Bucky and pouted, patting Rosa’s hair. Bucky grinned.

“This team?” He waved his index fingers around. “Is the best.”

“Ya darn tootin’!” Sami croaked.

“So, I guess the pressure’s left to me, huh?” Kamala said, chewing her granola.

“Don’t stress too much, kid,” Bucky said.

Kamala just shrugged. “All right, Coach.”

 

* * *

 

It was the night before the final day and Bucky was buzzing. He pushed open the tiny balcony his hotel room afforded him and shivered in the biting chill. He pulled his thick hoody up, slumping into the little wooden box they supplied as seating.

So far all his girls had performed outstandingly. They were in for the all-round, with the other five nations ready to roll. Romanov had congratulated him in the lobby just after dinner, but her smirk made him think that it wasn’t over yet. The Russians were still dominating the balance beam, so it was going to be tough. He’d already planned out Rosa, Sami and Emily on beam. They were the strongest. Kamala was the lightest and the quickest, so her floor, vault and uneven bars would help them bump the score. With each girl spread out over her best apparatuses, Bucky knew that had a really good chance of kicking it to gold.

The Men’s team had faulted out, not even making it for the all-round. Which sucked for Team USA, but made Bucky’s girls look _ha-_ mazing.

He grinned, looking over the emails flying between the coaching staff.

“He’d already sat with his team before bed and had the ol’ pep-talk. They needed to sleep, so he left them with some BBC African wildlife programming on the TV, which was sure to knock ‘em all out. It was basically a slumber party in Rosa’s room.

His phone buzzed. He had a string of text messages that had been neglected all day. 

 

> 11:23
> 
> **Murdock:**
> 
> I see they’re still paying you for this shit, lol. Good luck, Coach! 

   

 

> 12:03
> 
> **Lushton:**
> 
> Tell your tall one she’s got a place on my team next year. ;-)

  

 

> 16:57
> 
> **555-101-9876:**
> 
> Your team did great work today.

   

 

> 18:52
> 
> **Maximoff:**
> 
> Get some rest, Coach. Big day.

  

 

> 19:01
> 
> **555-345-9643**
> 
> We’ll see you in battle, James.

  

 

> 19:43
> 
> **Khonshu:**
> 
> Ah! We’ll be in the audience tomorrow! Ah! G’luck, dude!

 

 

> 21:22
> 
> **Kamala-walla-bing-bang:**
> 
> Jaws is on. We’re gonna watch it, k?

 

Bucky sighed.

  

 

> **Bucky:**
> 
> Go to sleep! And no, you cannot watch that.

  

 

> **Kamala-walla-bing-bang:**
> 
> Boooooo! You suck.

  

 

> **Bucky:**
> 
> And how did you change your name on my phone? You brats.

  

 

> **Rosalita-the-magnificent:**
> 
> We’re geniuses.

  

 

> **Kamala-walla-bing-bang:**
> 
> Also, you’re really old. Technology must be tough.

 

 

> **Bucky:**
> 
> BED!

  

 

> **Emily-my-favorite:**
> 
> Night, Coach!

 

He sat back and groaned before scrubbing his palm over his eyes. One more day and this would all be over. They were so close!

His phone buzzed.

Bucky sighed and pulled up the message app, expecting another round of annoying banter.

He frowned.

 

 

 

> **555-101-9876:**
> 
> I got your number from Wanda.
> 
> Hope that’s ok.

 

He looked at the number. Wasn’t ringing any bells. Before he could figure it out, his phone vibrated again.

 

 

 

> **555-101-9876:**
> 
> If you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. I just wanted to wish you good luck. You guys are good. You have a real shot tomorrow.
> 
>  

His stomach sank like a stone. God, only one person could sound that earnest in a text message.

“Damnit, Maximoff,” he groaned into his hand. He was definitely give her an earful in the morning.

The little app blinked, letting the other person know he’d seen the message. Fuck. Technology was his enemy.

Now he was wound up for a completely different reason. 

Well. 

Bucky was gonna have to burn this phone and throw its ashes in the river.

“But I have so many games on here,” he whined softly to himself. “Don’t wanna lose my levels.”

Which was the lamest of excuses. He stared at the pixels making up the number. The cursor blinked slowly. Over and over.

Why the fuck was Rogers texting him? Couldn’t he just fuck off and never speak to him again, like any self-respecting one night stand? What was wrong with him? Wasn’t it bad enough Bucky had frickin’–you know–done _stuff_ with him? _Stuff_ -stuff. With the only guy to have ever made Bucky think twice about shit like that? Couldn’t he just make do with the knowledge that he’d turned James Barnes’ head and had him question everything he’d ever wanted up until this point? _Wasn’t that enough?_

Bucky shook his head and groaned.

Why? Why why _why_?

Why was he even thinking about that night? It should be erasable, like marker on a board. 

_Brain, delete memory,_ he thought morosely. But even as he thought it, he added an asterisk.

_*store in mental sock drawer beside crate where I keep my childlike wonder about the world._

Ugh.

He looked at that blinking cursor again.

He’d gotten down and dirty with a man. Steve Rogers, the great oaf and king of dorks.

The guy who … okay, he could think it. The guy who wasn’t a complete monster. He was … nice. Maybe too nice, but not really the shithead Bucky’d thought he was. Romanov spoke very highly of him, and she barely _tolerated_ Bucky. 

Bucky _could_ have done worse. Rumlow was worse, right? Bucky shuddered. He should probably thank his lucky stars that of all the men to hit on him, it had been the soft one.

Plus, really, he shouldn’t have been so surprised. Rogers had been eyeing him, wanting him. Bucky liked that. He _liked_ when people wanted him. People weren’t kidding when they joked about him having an ego.

Plus it wasn’t like it was a _complete_ hardship. He did get a blowjob or two out of the mix. Ahem. He actually felt his own face flush, as a really hot, colourful memory of Rogers licking Bucky’s balls while fingering him came rushing into his head. God, it had felt _magical._ Rogers had such talented, long _fingers._

“Uuuuugh…” Bucky moaned, pressing his phone to his face. He was crazy.

He’d caught himself over the last three days actually thinking about that moment when he’d woken. When he’d found himself blinking awake in a warm cocoon of blankets. He’d found himself face-to-face with the sleeping blonde, and in his half-wakefulness contemplating the dark lashes Rogers had, and how pale his skin seemed next to Bucky’s.

It had felt, well, nice.

Until his brain had come back online.

That feeling, that moment of softness? He’d liked that so much, like an ache in his gut. Because it had been a _very_ long time since he’d felt that. Not since, like, his first crush. Not since his first kiss. 

Because once Bucky’d realized he was considered a fine piece of ass, his outlook on dating and sex and relationships had completely warped.

Being famous, athletic and good-looking had its amazing good sides, but a few downers too. His therapist had a lot to say on the matter. Doctor Temple was always really honest, at least. 

She was the one who poked and prodded and suggested that maybe, _just maybe,_ it was easier to pull off one-night-stands instead of paying attention to what he could contribute to a coupling. Once he’d separated himself from others, life was just that much easier. Bing, bang and out.

Which was probably the exact opposite of what Rogers was known for. Not that Bucky had looked the guy up and scanned ever single element of his life he could find.

Nuh-uh.

He stared at his phone.

The app said Rogers wasn’t online anymore.

Why was this guy getting Bucky to even consider a response? Was it the high Bucky was on with his team kicking ass all week? Was he just feeling generous?

Maybe.

He sighed. 

“I. don’t. want. to. talk,” he murmured slowly as he typed out a response.

He felt a weird moment of hesitation, then tapped ‘send’.

He dropped the phone onto the small concrete ledge jutting from the wall.

He almost shrieked when his phone buzzed loudly.

“Jesus H,” he huffed, grabbing it up again.

His belly gave a flop when that unfamiliar number flashed up again. God. Was Rogers just lying there, staring at his stupid phone like a teenager?

  

 

> **555-101-9876:**
> 
> Sure. No worries. Sorry if I bothered you.

 

Now typically, Bucky would take that as a passive-aggressive taunt. He chewed his lip.

 

 

> **Bucky:**
> 
> I just can’t talk, ok? 

 

He felt so weird texting this guy.

 

 

> **555-101-9876:**
> 
> Oh. Someone with you? You busy?

 

 

> **Bucky:**
> 
> No

  

 

> **555-101-9876:**
> 
> Okay.

 

Bucky chewed his lip some more. This guy… honestly.

  

 

> **555-101-9876:**
> 
> I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. If I am, I’m sorry.
> 
> I can stop.

  

 

> **Bucky:**
> 
> You’re always like this, aren’t you?

  

 

> **555-101-9876:**
> 
> Like what?

  

 

> **Bucky:**
> 
> All earnest an ship
> 
> shit, I meant shit

  

 

> **555-101-9876:**
> 
> I figured.
> 
> You think I’m earnest?

  

 

> ** Bucky: **
> 
> Yeah
> 
>  
> 
> **555-101-9876:**
> 
> Well, that’s better than I would have thought.

 

 

> **Bucky:**
> 
> You’re also a shit

 

 

> **555-101-9876:**
> 
> There it is.

  

 

> **Bucky:**
> 
> I gotta sleep

  

 

> **555-101-9876:**
> 
> Yeah. okay. Good night, I guess.

 

Bucky sighed slowly. Was he really having a text conversation with the enemy the night before their big championship final? 

 

 

> **Bucky:**
> 
> Good luck. Or watevr.

 

“Bah,” Bucky grumbled and got up abruptly to get back inside. He needed to shower. He had to sleep, for Christ’s sake.

He fumbled through his luggage and yanked out his PJs.

He tapped away at his phone for a moment then threw it on th e bed, too awkward to think.

 

He scrubbed his hair and washed the stress of the day off.

He laid out his razor and shaving cream on the stupidly small sink. He hooked his coach uniform hanger on the hook inside the wobbly closet and made sure he had clean socks ready beside his fresh new sneakers he’d bought just for this day.

He felt so uneasy, knowing that in the morning he would have to smile, win or lose. 

“Ughhhhh,” he fell back on the bed and stared up at the pebbled popcorn ceiling.

He’d spent a lot of nights like this, just staring at ceilings, waiting for the morning to come round and scare him shitless.

It didn’t matter if he even shared his bed, it was still the same.

He looked over in the dimness. His phone light was flashing.

He watched it blink softly.

He had to set his alarm. So he needed his phone.

He reached over and grabbed it before curling onto his side.

A message blinked.

 

> **Rogers:**
> 
> You too. 
> 
> Good night, Barnes.

 

Bucky couldn't actually stop the happy flush that washed over his face in the dim room.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, my 'knowledge' about gymnastics is all garbage and made up and please don't ever think a formal athletic organization would ever run something like an international championship as shoddily as I have done in this story. 
> 
> Aside from that, enjoy!

It was just too close.

The medals for the all-round were within the top teams’ sights but it just wasn’t clear yet who was the frontrunner.

Team Russia had an amazing shot with their beam scores, and Canada’s uneven bars were unbelievable. 

So far, They were neck and neck, with Russia taking their final vault.

All of Team USA was holding hands, Bucky in the middle.

They watched as the blonde athlete took her run, leapt onto the springboard and –

“Holy crap,” Rosa gasped as the tall, Russian blonde caught her foot on the table, causing her to vault over, rolling at an alarming rate right over and onto the mats below.

“Whoa,” Sami breathed, watching the athlete get to her feet, Coach Romanov there to help her. Romanov looked tiny behind the girl, but the girl’s disappointment barely showed.

“Dang,” Kamala said. She looked up at Bucky. “Do we, um, cheer?”

“No,” Maximoff cut in, watching the Russian team. “That would be disrespectful.”

Bucky smiled and whispered, “Don’t worry, the people watching on TV all cheered.”

Emily snorted. 

Maximoff rolled her eyes.

“So Russia’s most likely in third!” Rosa breathed excitedly.

Bucky swore he could _hear_ the girls squealing like pressure-cookers, right through their grinning faces.

He stood up.

“Okay, guys. Now’s not the time to get cocky. We’re so close,” he said, wiping his hands together.

“Again, no pressure,” Kamala rolled her eyes.

“Girl, you already got your gold for the floor,” Rosa elbowed her. “Whatever you do next is gravy.”

Kamala hummed.

Bucky turned, finally taking a moment to soak it in.

They would have a short break while the final team members got ready.

From where he stood, Bucky could see the Canadian team in their sparkling black and red, huddled down with Rogers and the squad.

When they cheered and stood up, separating, Rogers stood tall, his blonde hair hard to miss.

He looked so _official_ in his team uniform, the mostly-black with shots of red and white here and there. Rogers was smiling, high-fiving one of his athletes.

He also caught Romanov as she passed, ice pack in hand. They chatted, Rogers looking all nice, friendly and interested in whatever Romanov had to say.

Probably consoling her on her loss.

It’s a big one, too, losing that badly because of a flub. Sucked.

Romanov smiled at Rogers, that smile Bucky never saw. He remembered seeing it that first time, when he realized the douche he’d met and immediately hated, was not only friends with, but was well-liked by one of the coldest, driest people Bucky had ever known.

Beyond Rogers, Bucky could see that other guy from before. The Wilson guy. Bucky blinked. Was Wilson staring at him?

Bucky tilted his head. Wilson folded his arms, and yup, he was now _glaring_ at Bucky.

He wasn’t in any Team Canada uniform, so Bucky wondered, again, what his connection to Rogers was.

“God,” Bucky murmured, catching Wilson’s scowl. Obviously, this guy was no longer a Barnes fan. Figures. Find one fan, lose him in, like, three days.

But Wilson moved on, having been called over by some official.

“Can we wish them good luck?” Sami said, making Bucky jump.

He stared down at the wide eyes of his team.

“Say what?” he asked, a little flustered. Why were they all looking at him like that?

“Can we go over to Team Canada and, like, wish them luck? It’s the final event for them too, you know,” Kamala said, exasperated.

“Uh,” Bucky blinked. Of course his team of rugrats would want to be better athletes than he ever was. In his career, he could count on one hand the number of times he’d talked to the opposition and wished them good luck. Actually, on one finger. And that would be last night, in a text message to Rogers. Because James Buchanan Barnes was a royal dick and didn’t wish _anyone_ good luck.

“Come on, Coach,” Sami whined. “It’s good vibes.”

Rosa nodded.

Maximoff was trying to hold back her smug smile, as she folded towels beside them.

“Go on, Coach,” she said. “Take the girls over. It’s polite, yes?”

Bucky actually didn’t want to do that.

But he would.

Because four sets of round eyes blinked up at him like a pile of puppies vying for his attention.

“You guys are walking crimes against humanity, you know that?” he groused.

The girls all cheered and threw their arms around him, knowing they’d won this battle.

“Come on, Coach!” Kamala said, voice muffled by her laughter. “Let’s go do something nice!”

“Ugghhhh,” Bucky rolled his eyes as he was shoved into motion. “Torture!”

He followed the girls around the mats, passing the sombre Russian team and the scowling Latvians. Theydidn’t have to stay and watch, but knowing their hard-ass coach, they’d have to.

“We came to say good luck!” Kamala said, skipping up to the crowd of Canadians and their coaching staff.

“Aww!” the Canadian gymnast with the turquoise curls said, coming up to Kamala, arms wide open. “Good luck to you guys, too!”

_Oh fuck, this is so sappy_ , Bucky groaned internally. He twisted around to catch Maximoff’s eye. She was sitting on their bench, all comfy, and grinning over at him. She fluttered her fingers and smiled wider. Bucky scowled.

When he turned back, the girls were in a huddle, a mixture of red, black, white and blue limbs all wrapped up together.

Honestly, if he didn’t know better, he’d think this was some kind of satanic ritual. But it was just gymnastics love.

He looked up, catching the eye of Rogers, standing beside the huddle, an amused smile on his lips.

Rogers gave a little nod of greeting.

Bucky cleared his throat. “You wanna shake?” Barnes said, loud enough for him to hear.

Rogers just blinked, clearly surprised. “Uh, yeah, sure,” and he came over.

Bucky extended his arm and Rogers took it. His palm was large and dry and warm. Bucky felt his neck flush and he hoped his ears weren’t going red. He shook on it. “Good luck, I guess,” he murmured awkwardly.

“And to your team,” Rogers said with a soft smile. God, his eyes really were somethin’ else. “I’m sure Kamala’s gonna ace that beam.”

“Yup, yes,” Bucky nodded, realizing he had no idea who Rogers had up for the vault. He’d lost track and never really concerned himself with their names. 

Rogers’ smile was genuine, but obviously still a little unsure.

Bucky realized he was still gripping the other man’s hand and dropped it abruptly.

The silence was kind of strange, the way it buffered them. Bucky looked to the side, sensing trouble.

“Oh for the love–“ 

All eight girls were turned, staring at the two coaches like they were watching some high-quality soap opera or something. Their eyes were basically twinkling and shining.

“All right!” Bucky barked, “Back!”

The girls scattered, his team running ahead, all giggles and glee.

“See you round, Barnes,” Rogers murmured.

 

“Hmm,” Bucky responded, already turned.

 

* * *

 

It was a moment frozen in time.

Kamala was everything she’d trained to be; The lightest, the fastest. It was what always made her routines so beautiful: she could move so quickly, it was almost a blur. The beam wasn’t her strongest set, but it was still amazing to see her work it.

She’d so far caused gasps and claps already, and as she moved into her final backflip, moving so swiftly, Bucky’s breath caught. She’d aced this so far, but her landing had him leaping to his feet. Her foot had landed too far, barely three inches back, and she was going into her flip.

The rest of the team gasped, spotting it too, knowing her routine so well.

As if in slow motion, Kamala leapt into the air, flipping backwards and twisting her body, and just as Bucky’s heart caught in his throat, her landing foot was too far along the beam. It was meant to launch her into final dismount, but it wasn’t going to work. Bucky thought he could _hear_ the slam of her heel into the beam, her toes having nothing to press to and Kamala tumbled right off the beam with a scream of what could only be pain.

Bucky was up and across the mats in seconds.

“Kamala,” he breathed, falling to his knees beside her.

“Coach!” the tears were already bubbling up, her face broken with pain. “I bombed it, Coach,” she huffed, strained. He didn’t miss her wince as she tried to sit up.

“Stay,” he said, shifting, immediately going to check her foot.

“Ow!” she cried when she moved. “It hurts!”

And the tears started to fall. 

“Hey,” a soft voice joined them and Bucky expected a medic.

Bucky looked up, surprised buy the now familiar shock of blonde hair. “Rogers?” he said, confused. 

“Sam’s on his way, just stay still,” Rogers said, kneeling on Kamala’s other side.

Kamala nodded, tears pouring down her cheeks as she tried to keep herself in check. She was sobbing now.

“I’m sorry, Coach,” she babbled, hands covering her face. “I messed up.”

“Hey,” Bucky scooched over to take her hands away from her face. “Hey, you did amazing. You were so good. So good.” He held her hands in his and smiled down at her. Kamala just sniffled some more, her brown eyes all wet and sad. “Come on, kid. You don’t really think breaking your foot gets you out of training, do you?”

There it was. She smiled, choked out a laugh and sniffled through her tears.

“ _Sabotage_ ,” she said through her snot. Bucky smiled.

Wilson, apparently a medic, showed up, kneeling beside Bucky.

“Give a guy some room,” he murmured, taking Kamala’s foot in hand.

Bucky saw officials waving arms, redirecting. They would have to move her soon.

“Is it broken?” he said softly. Wilson was right beside him, concentrating. 

“Sweetheart,” Wilson murmured, “Does this hurt?”

Kamala breathed in, concentrating. “No?”

“Okay, and this?”

Kamala shook her head. 

Wilson gently lifted her foot and Kamala winced. He moved her heel and she cried out.

“Okay,” Wilson gently pressed her heel and moved his fingers around, watching Kamala’s face.

Bucky was still holding her hands tight. She was clearly trying to not appear hurt, but Wilson knew better. Guy probably had to deal with athletes all the time, the kind that wanted to soldier on in pain. Bucky was glad to see that that shit probably didn’t pass muster with Wilson.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Wilson murmured, nodding. “I don’t think it’s broken, but you have definitely hurt your tendon, okay? I’m going to have to get you up and moving, but looks like you won’t need an ambulance.” He smiled down at her, and Kamala nodded, her faced all wet, biting her lip. “You were amazing up there, okay? Let’s just blame the dead tree on metal legs for moving.”

“Okay,” Kamala snuffled wetly.

Wilson looked at Bucky, “We need to get her to the office where I can get this wrapped up. A stretcher might be a bit–“

“I’ve got her,” Rogers said, immediately leaning forward. “You okay with that?” He was asking Kamala.

She nodded. “Okay,” she repeated.

“Rogers, wait–“ Bucky cut in, but Rogers ignored him.

“Upsy-daisy,” Rogers murmured, scooping one arm under Kamala’s back, and the other under her legs. “Got me?” She nodded, wrapping her thin arms around his neck. “You good?”

“Uh-huh,” she said.

Rogers gently shifted into a crouch, then stood up, easily lifting her up.

The crowd cheered wildly and Bucky stood hastily.

“Over there,” Wilson said, pointing them in the right direction.

“Rogers,” Bucky intercepted, “I can carry her,” he said sternly.

“I know you can,” Rogers murmured, blinking at him. “Just let me help.”

“Give her over,” Bucky hissed.

“ _Coach._ ”

Bucky blinked. Then he looked down at Kamala, this tiny athlete lumped up in Rogers’ arms.

“Yes?” he said.

“If you take this moment away from me, I will strangle you in your sleep with your own gold medal ribbon.” Her eyes were flashing, even with tear-tracks running down her cheeks.

Bucky blinked. Huh?

She scowled at him, her cheeks flushing. Her eyes flicked up to Rogers’ earnest face and back.

“Oh,” Bucky’s brows rose. _Oh._ Right, okay. He held back a smile. Teenage girl. Right.

He stepped back and waved them on. Rogers blinked, his thick arms holding Kamala safely.

“Let’s go,” Bucky said, following the Canadian coach that was carrying his star athlete out the arena of screaming fans.

 

* * *

 

Rogers had to get back to his team, and Bucky ended up missing their final.

He kept Kamala company as her foot was wrapped up.

She was given a set of crutches, making it possible for her to return to their team.

“Sorry, guys,” she murmured, once back out beside them.

Rosa, Sami, and Emily just hugged her blind.

“You idiot,” Rosa huffed.

Sami pulled back. “Are you okay?”

Kamala shrugged. 

Maximoff came over and gave Kamala a kiss on the forehead. “You were beautiful out there.”

“I fell off,” Kamala grumped.

“Yes, but you did it majestically,” Maximoff smiled.

Bucky smiled.

“So, we get third?” Kamala sighed sadly.

“Better, we got second,” Rosa said proudly.

Kamala blinked and looked around. “What? But, I bombed?”

Emily smirked, “Yeah, but you really impressed the judges before you hit the mats.” 

“So your score wasn’t actually worse than Canada. So Russia got that, but you got second.” Sami said.

Kamala’s mouth dropped open. She turned to Bucky. “Coach?”

“You know we’re heading to the Olympics, right?” he said with a smirk. 

“Oh. My. God,” Kamala breathed.

“Well, there are a few more, like, tests and stuff–“ Sami began but was cut off by Bucky’s look. “Uh, I mean, yes. Olympics, here we come.”

“Damn straight,” Bucky intoned, high-fiving his team on a job well done.

 

* * *

 

The aftermath of the World Championships dragged on a little longer than expected. The girls were slated for interviews and photoshoots and all other sorts of glory.

The blogs had lit up after Kamala’s accident, if not for her amazing work on the beam, then for the way the two opposing coaches were snapped talking together. Rogers carrying her out was built up to some kind of ‘Canadian-American’ coalition that the social media sites ate up like mad. People loved the way the two coaches were photographed together, helping Kamala in her time of need.

Memes popped up of Kamala on the second-place podium, cheering with one crutch. They were pretty funny, if Bucky was honest. He particularly liked the one of Kamala being carried out by Rogers and the caption was just: _Worth it._

 

It got to such a head that the unbelievable had happened. When Bucky had all but resigned himself to the fact that his time swimming around Rogers like some freaked out goldfish was over, they had to do this.

Bucky was standing in a large studio with a bustling crew of art directors and stylists and photographers, all focusing on the female gymnastics teams sitting together on a dark grey background. They were decked out in their Team USA and Team Canada tracksuits. Both Bucky and Rogers had insisted it be the those, instead of their leotards. There were limits to how far they’d be willing to exploit teenage girls for the possibility of Olympic glory.

 

“Sponsors are gonna love this,” Bucky said, coming to stand beside Rogers.

The two of them were awkwardly moving around one another as the day of madness continued.

 

“Yeah,” Rogers said, hands in jacket pockets. He was watching his team standing in front of the camera, World Champ medals held out in pride.

“You got any Canadian photoshoots or whatever lined up?” Bucky asked, sipping at the piss-poor coffee in the paper cup he held.

Rogers shrugged, “MacLeans wants to do something. Nothing like this, I don’t think.”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, the American way, huh?”

Rogers laughed, then moved as some assistant dragged a set of footstools past them.

Bucky eyed Rogers out of the corner of his eye.

He was in his coach uniform, cap in place, and he was clearly freshly shaven.

“So, uh,” he cleared his throat. “Back to Toronto for you?”

Rogers looked over and Bucky held back the urge to look away and blush (what was he, thirteen?!)

Rogers looked at him carefully, those eyes soft but sharp. He looked over Bucky’s face, slowly. 

“Yeah, back to Toronto. Gotta get to training.”

Bucky frowned, just to give his face something to do. They were being pretty much ignored over here at the back of the studio.

“You live up there?”

Rogers nodded, “Mostly, yeah. Moved about six months ago. It’s a good city. Nice people.”

“Shit weather, though,” Bucky griped.

Rogers laughed. “Yeah, like Brooklyn’s any better.”

Bucky sniffed, dropped his empty cup into a nearby trashcan, and folded his arms.

“Don’t knock it,” he said.

Rogers looked at him again, leaning back against the concrete wall behind them.

“You still live there? In Brooklyn, I mean?”

Bucky glanced over. He shrugged. 

Rogers just stared back. Bucky’s throat felt all dry.

“What?” he murmured, aware they could be overheard if someone was interested enough.

“Nothing,” Rogers said softly, eyes drifting to Bucky’s lips. “Just thinking.”

Bucky grunted but didn’t look away. “We’re in public, you asshole.”

Rogers blinked, as though just realizing what Bucky had said.

His eyes sought out Bucky’s. “Sorry,” he said gently.

Bucky scowled. “Don’t fuckin’ apologize.” He sounded peeved, but he wasn’t, not really. “Just, you know, stop with the babydoll eyes.”

Rogers just stared. Was he broken, or something?

“You know,” the blonde said, voice deep. “I never really listened to people when they said ‘never meet your heroes.’”

Bucky cocked a brow. “I’m one of your heroes? We’re, like, the same age.”

Rogers shrugged.

The room was still bustling, the two teams of girls now squeezed onto the backdrop and acting like idiots.

“I saw you on TV in High School, that first time you represented the USA. You were so amazing.”

Bucky looked away.

“And I was trying my best to even qualify for the gymnastics team, never mind represent the country.”

Bucky though about that photo of a scrawny Steve Rogers.

“And I thought you were so talented, so perfect, the way you worked.” Rogers sighed, “James Buchanan Barnes. What a guy, you know? Then at the next Olympics, I got to see you live. I mean, i’d always liked watching you perform, but I didn’t, I guess, understand why. Once I was eighteen or so, it started to click.”

“Oh God,” Bucky sighed.

“What?” Rogers turned to look at him.

“Please don’t tell me I was your gay awakening.”

Rogers actually smiled at that, “Bi, actually. And yeah, you were. Sorry.”

Bucky groaned. “Yeah, you’re not the first. God, dudes used to say that to me all the time.”

Rogers chuckled.

“Well, you’ve earned that.”

“Was that when you were working with Carter?” Bucky asked.

Rogers blinked and nodded. “Uh, yeah.”

Bucky snorted. 

“You don’t like her much, do you?” Rogers murmured. “Yet she speaks so well of you.”

Bucky turned then, actually surprised.

“What?”

Rogers nodded. “Yeah, she always liked you, in like, a professional way. She liked how driven you were. Said you were flawed as hell, but amazing regardless.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped. “You are fucking with me.”

Rogers laughed, eyes crinkling. “No, I’m not. Trust me, I thought you were the epitome of everything until she said that. She’s the one who told me to choose my idols carefully. That you could be an inspiration, and obviously talented, but that people like me always got too tied up in the idealization of guys like you.”

“Christ,” Bucky said. “that’s weird.”

Rogers nodded. “Yup.”

“So I must have been such a massive disappointment, huh?” Bucky said without an ounce of softness. “When you met me, I mean.”

Rogers shrugged. “I dunno. I didn’t exactly make a good impression. Plus, you have your reasons for being the way you are, I guess.”

“A shithead,” Bucky retorted. 

Rogers snorted. “You said it, not me.”

“I know I’m an asshole,” Bucky said. “I’m okay with it.”

Rogers turned then, shoulder leaning onto the wall. “Are you, though?”

Bucky stared back at him. “Yeah, man.”

“I mean, are you actually an asshole?” Rogers amended. “Because your team talks about you like you walk on water. And Maximoff respects the hell out of you. And Natasha likes you. So are you sure?”

Bucky blinked, then bit his lip.

“Well, I treated you like fucking shit, didn’t I?” and God almighty, he’d actually mentioned it.

Rogers just looked at him with soft eyes.

“I guess,” he murmured, eyes tracking their way over Bucky’s face. “You’re not the nicest guy I’ve ever–“

The photographer hollered, calling their attention.

Bucky pushed away from the wall and tugged his jacket straight, thankful the rest of that sentence was lost. He was all flustered even thinking about it.

He turned to Rogers, and caught the man staring some more, but in a whole other way.

“I just–“ Bucky began, but Rogers stood up, fingers going to swipe at the coif of Bucky’s hair.

Bucky swallowed.

“It didn’t exactly end up great,” Rogers murmured softly. Then he looked into Bucky’s eyes and smiled. “Still, I’ve never, ever been that turned on in my life. So not all bad, huh?”

 

And with a tap on the shoulder, Rogers pulled Bucky over, red-faced, to the waiting crew of photographers, athletes and onlookers.

 

* * *

 

The shoot went well, even if Bucky felt like he was going to burst out of his uniform in a blaze of flames.

 

* * *

 

The day was finally coming to an end and they had to pack up their shit.

Sami and Emily were bundled off in cabs, to catch their flights home. Sami’s mom even hugged Bucky, which was new.

Rosa’s aunt picked her up, ready for the drive up to Rochester. The big family gathering would no doubt be terrible for Rosa, but sheer pride and excitement for her many aunts and uncles.

Kamala and her mom were getting a lift home with Maximoff, who had done nothing but hound Bucky about using his week off wisely. “Get some rest,” she kept harping on at him. “Do not email me at all, okay? I will ignore you.”

“Hey,” Bucky said softly, pulling her into a hug. She was stiff at first, but settled. “I never say it, but thank you. You’re the best, Wanda.” He kissed her hair.

She huffed, “I know. You don’t deserve me.”

Bucky laughed and pulled back, “This is true.”

She eyed him warily on the sidewalk as the Khans packed up Kamala’s crap into the car.

The hotel was bustling, the remainder of the athletes and coaching staff getting themselves out for a week-long break.

The air was crisp, and Maximoff’s scarf was ridiculously large around her neck.

“Are you feeling okay?” Maximoff said softly.

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, I’m actually good.”

“We didn’t get all gold,” Maximoff murmured.

Bucky shrugged, “Yeah, but we will. Six months, baby.”

Wanda huffed out an exasperated laugh. “You kill me,” she said, eyes flicking over his shoulder.

Bucky twisted to find none other than Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson on the steps to the hotel, giant bags slung on their shoulders. Rogers was wearing a winter coat and a big long, pale blue scarf around his neck. For a six-foot two monster, he sure could look adorable.

Wilson was glaring still, so that was normal.

“Bye Coach,” Kamala hopped over, distracting Bucky with a hug around the middle. “Lay off the grump-juice, okay?”

She had also obviously spotted Rogers, because she was grinning up at Bucky.

“I will,” he said, brow cocked.

He waved at the Khans as Maximoff drove them out of the oval hotel driveway.

Bucky hefted his own massive bag onto his shoulder, grateful at last for the quiet.

“Hey.”

Bucky turned, phone in hand. Rogers was there, smiling, closer.

“You heading home?” Rogers said.

“Yup,” Bucky answered. He could just see Wilson scowling at his own phone.

“Uh,” Rogers scratched at his hair, “Well, I’m in town for a little longer. If, um, if you wanna, uh, hang out, or something.”

Bucky stared at him, wondering how the guy could be so nice all the time. Was he even real?

He could feel the low pulse of pressure that had been gently waving in his gut, like a soft ocean, rise up. The build-up had been excruciating, and he could _just_ see a glimpse of … maybe possibility?

Bucky cleared his throat, trying to muster the cockiness he used with women. This would totally be fine.

“Or, instead of me maybe never calling you sometime in the next week, and you going back to Canada, and us only meeting again at the Olympics,” Bucky began, then lowered his voice conspiratorially. “How about you come home with me?”

Rogers blinked like a freakin’ lost bunny rabbit.

Christ, had Bucky overshot?

But then Rogers leaned in. “James Barnes, are you trying to seduce me?”

Bucky smiled, “Not like it’s hard.”

And Rogers actually laughed at that, flush high on his cheeks.

He turned to Wilson, “Hey, Sam. I’ll see you Wednesday?”

Wilson looked up with a glare. “Are you serious? Really?”

Rogers just grinned and flagged down one of the many cabs. “Yup!”

“You are so dumb, Rogers,” Wilson said, that nice guy from that first night completely gone. “I swear to God.”

He glared at Bucky directly but Bucky just shrugged.

He felt all bubbly inside and Wilson wasn’t going to spook him, not now.

 

* * *

 

“So, uh, this is home,” Bucky said, dropping his keys on the little shelf by the door. He threw his massive bag in the general direction of the bathroom.

Rogers entered his apartment with curious eyes.

“Nice place,” he said, taking in the stark white interiors with the array of grey blankets and miscellaneous art on the walls.

Bucky took his luggage and threw it with his own. He indicated the hall closet where Rogers could hang his coat and crap.

 

Bucky dropped his own winter gear as he went, checking on the balcony door, the alarm, the windows. He reset the thermostat, as the rooms were cold.

When he got back to the closet, Rogers was standing there, shoes off, in jeans and another stupidly tight sweater.

“Jesus, dude,” Bucky sighed, “How many of those you got?”

Rogers looked down, fingers plucking at the soft black material.

“Uh, a few, I guess? Why? You don’t like?”

Bucky snorted, unsure of how to answer a question that made his insides wobble precariously. Rogers was in his Goddamn home.

So he did what he usually did, he bluffed his way through it all.

He walked right up to Rogers and pressed him into the kitchen wall. Rogers blinked, slightly surprised.

“What? You thought you came here to watch Walking Dead?”

Rogers’ tongue made an appearance, ticking at his upper lip.

Bucky’s eyes fell to it, his own lips feeling dry.

“Um, well,” Rogers said, voice going hoarse. “I wasn’t sure, in case, um…”

Bucky scowled at him. “Use your words, Rogers.”

“Steve,” the blonde said, voice croaky. 

Bucky looked him over slowly. Rogers’ hands were drifting, and Bucky watched them slowly grasp at Bucky’s flanks, gently touching, seeking permission.

“Steve,” he said. Then he nodded. “Bucky, then.”

Rogers blinked. “What?”

“My name? Bucky. You don’t have to call me Barnes. Or whatever.”

Rogers’ eyes were a little wide. “Wait, hold on. _Bucky?_ I thought that was a rumour!”

Bucky cocked a brow, rumbling as long fingers pressed into his ribs, pulling him closer to Rogers’, _Steve’s_ , warmth. “What was? My name?”

“Well, it, uh, I thought that was another one of those bullshit stories. You always go by James Barnes?”

“Yeah, professionally, dumbass,” Bucky griped. “But I also go by Bucky. I prefer Bucky. Christ, do you honestly listen to all the gossip about me?”

“No!” Steve cried, fingers curling. “I just, uh, after the tattoo incident, I thought maybe I should, like, unlearn all the gossip. And _Bucky_ sounded like another weird one, you know?”

“God,” Bucky huffed, leaning int to kiss Rogers right on the mouth, like he’d been wanting to all day. His tummy gave a happy roll and he could _feel_ the sparks. 

“Got any other gossip you was dispelled?” Bucky murmured, pressing his lips against Steve’s.

“Um,” Steve breathed against him. “People always say, uh, that you’re a jerk.”

Bucky licked Rogers’ teeth. “Well, that’s definitely true.”

“Uhm,” Steve groaned into Bucky, hands moving to Bucky’s back, pulling him in tight.

“Oh, Coach _Rogers_ ,” Bucky hummed, feeling a distinct hardness pressing against him through their layers of clothing.

“Please, God, don’t call me that,” Steve breathed into Bucky’s mouth. He whined when Bucky moved his hands up his neck and into his hair.

Bucky chuckled, “But it’s so official, making out with the opposing Team Coach. So clandestine.”

Rogers just groaned some more and really leaned in, going to town on Bucky’s mouth. His tongue was seeking and wet and wonderful between Bucky’s teeth.

“ _Ah_ ,” Bucky breathed sharply when a firm hand tugged at his ass, crushing him to Rogers. “ _Fuck._ ”

“We’re really doing this again?” Steve lapped at Bucky’s mouth, eyes heavy-lidded.

“Yes,” Bucky nipped back.

“You gonna kick me out, after?” Rogers asked, tongue so pushy.

Bucky couldn’t catch his breath, he was so taken by the sensation, the way Steve kissed him. It was like a wave washing him down, deeper into the sea. When he did come up for air, he was bent back a little, Rogers’ arms holding him close, so strong.

Bucky was so hard, he was fit to burst, and Rogers could _definitely_ tell.

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” Bucky said gruffly, out of breath.

Rogers pulled him straight. He nipped at Bucky. Then he massaged Bucky’s ass and Bucky almost went cross-eyed. He could feel Steve’s dick rubbing up against his own and it was so heady, just like he remembered.

“If we do this,” Steve murmured. “You gotta know now how much I want this. You.”

Bucky’s breath caught.

His nose was beside Rogers and he could see the dark lashes lightly fluttering near his own.

“Fuck,” Bucky said in answer. “I don’t–“ he said. “I can’t promise shit.”

He looked into Rogers’ blue eyes. Honesty was all he had sometimes.

Steve just stared back, eyes dark. 

“Okay,” he murmured. “Not like I’m about to say no. Wild horses and all that.”

Bucky chuckled. “Okay, so now we’ve got the legal portion of this meeting out of the way, how about some fucking?”

“Jesus,” Rogers said with a grunt as Bucky backed away, tugging him further into the apartment. “The mouth on you.”

“Not complaining, are you?” Bucky said, kicking his bedroom door open. He yanked Rogers into the room and shoved him forcefully. Steve looked mildly surprised, but fell back onto the bed. 

He just laid there while Bucky pulled at his own shirt, tugging the material over his head.

“No, no, let me,” Rogers sat up quickly, hands immediately going out to tug Bucky in by his belt. “I didn’t get to last time.”

“Get to what?” Bucky frowned.

But Steve just started unbuckling the offending belt, hands opening up jeans and tugging at material. His hands pulled Bucky’s jeans down and grasped at his ass, squeezing.

Bucky grunted when Steve pressed his face to Bucky’s clothed erection.

“Any requests this time?” Steve hummed.

Bucky felt flushed, his face burning. When Steve looked up at him, hands still squeezing his ass, Bucky stammered.

“Uhm, I don’t know. What you did last time?”

Steve grinned. “Okay.”

He stood up and tugged at his own clothes, while Bucky stumbled around, trying to get his shoes, socks and jeans off in a manner that was completely idiotic.

When Bucky was finally free, Rogers was waiting, all pale skin, and _Christ_ , heavy cock hanging there like it was _totally_ normal.

Not that Bucky’s dick seemed to mind, as it bobbed to attention, distracting Steve.

“C’mere,” Steve murmured, pulling Bucky into his lap. Bucky went easily, standing his knees on the bed, either side of Steve’s strong, thick thighs.

“Look at you,” Steve said breathily, hands swiping up Bucky’s legs, his hips, his sides. When both hands went round back, softly pressing along Bucky’s ass and thighs, he groaned. “God, you’re perfect,” Steve hummed.

“Shut up,” Bucky was flushed.

Steve looked up at him, chin pressing just above Bucky’s belly. “You have any lube?”

Bucky looked over at the bedside table. Lord, it wasn’t even put away. Just standing there beside his lamp was the squeeze bottle he’d made great use of.

Rogers didn’t seem fazed. He just leaned over, grasping with his left hand, while his right kept Bucky upright, pressed to his ass like a vice.

“Mmm, vanilla,” Steve said, reading the label.

“Shut _up,_ ” Bucky huffed, jumping a little when he felt fingers probing.

Rogers wet his fingers on his left hand and Bucky bit his lip. God, if he was getting a repeat of last time? _Shit._

“Just to be sure,” he said gruffly. “What exactly is happening?”

Steve looked up at him. “I’m going to suck you off and finger fuck you? Yes?”

Bucky’s knees almost gave out. “Jesus, yes please.”

Steve hummed and smiled. “You didn’t seem too bothered by fingers last time, which surprised me.”

Bucky made a face, “Hey, I’ve had chicks’ fingers up there before. Assplay ain’t a new invention, you know.”

Rogers kissed Bucky’s hip as his wet hand travelled upwards, behind Bucky, pressing. Bucky was a little distracted when his lips pressed to Bucky’s dick, then licks started to happen and it all got a bit too hot in the bedroom.

“Ah,” Bucky breathed when Rogers finally just sucked him in, doing that magical thing with his mouth and tongue.

“Oh, God, fuck,” Bucky said, gripping Steve’s hair. “Yes.”

He remained still as Steve gently suckled him, fingers gently squeezing between his ass cheeks.

The first touch of a fingertip had Bucky shiver.

Rogers pulled off and Bucky frowned. He looked down. 

“Here, come on,” Steve said, scooting up the bed and lying down. He patted Bucky’s legs. “Up here.”

And, oh, boy, did Bucky comply. He crawled over Rogers, lining his dick up with that warm, pink mouth and Rogers’ fingers got back to work, slowly opening Bucky up.

Before long, Bucky was panting, hips moving his dick in and out of Steve’s mouth while a finger pressed into him, seeking out that super hot spot inside.

Bucky’s spread his legs, getting closer, huffing as he was allowed to fuck into Steve’s mouth.

“Oh, shit, yes,” Bucky said, words falling from his lips. “That is so good, Steve. You suck me so _good._ ”

He was trembling until Steve stilled his hip with his right hand, left hand pushing in deeper and then Bucky was seeing stars. Two fingers hooked him inside, finding a pressure point and Bucky’s legs all but gave out as he was assaulted from both sides. He failed at keeping his hips steady, but Steve had him, and controlled the pace, pushing up into Bucky, and pushing down, into his welcoming mouth.

“Oh God, oh God, wait waitwait _wait_ ,” Bucky whined sharply, pulling back. “I’m gonna come.”

Bucky popped free and Steve’s fingers fell loose, his eyes all glazed, but wide.

Bucky bent over, kissing at Rogers sticky, wet lips, his hands trembling against Steve’s jaw. He kissed deeper, all but consuming Steve in a hungry takedown of his cognitive faculties.

“Bucky,” Steve moaned, pulling Bucky down, chest-to-chest. “I want to make you come. Let me,” he hummed desperately.

“No,” Bucky huffed, falling heavily into Steve. “Fuck you.”

Steve blinked slowly, hands running over Bucky’s ass.

“If you want?” he said softly.

Bucky got to his elbows. “What?”

“Fuck me?” Steve said softly.

Bucky’s eyes went round as he envisioned that.

“Oh, hell _yes_ ,” he growled. “God, yes, _please_ let me fuck you. That would be, I just–oh _God_.” He kissed Steve hungrily, nipping and biting and licking. His hips rolled into Steve, their cocks sliding from the saliva Steve had so kindly supplied.

“Ah,” Steve squeaked, all but swooning with the affection. “You’re gonna kill me, Bucky.”

Bucky growled. “Spread ‘em.”

And boy, did Steve comply. He opened up his legs, as much as he could beneath Bucky.

Bucky lurched over to grab at the lube, slathering his fingers and cock with the stuff.

He rubbed himself up and down, rumbling deep in his chest as he looked down at Rogers spread out for him. Steve’s eyes were locked on Bucky’s hand and cock as he rubbed the wetness all over, putting on a small show.

“You like that, Rogers?” he said, voice rough.

Steve nodded, hands grabbing for Bucky. When Bucky just swatted them away, Steve whined, hoisting his legs inwards, and out from under Bucky, spreading himself wide, as a gymnast could. God, but he was stunning. He scooted down, closer to Bucky, his ass now pressed up against Bucky’s thighs, presenting himself.

“Jesus almighty,” Bucky felt his voice crack at the sight. “And they say I’m the easy one.”

“I would greatly appreciate it if you would fuck me,” Steve said gruff and annoyed.

So Bucky obliged, his fingers squeezing at Rogers’ cock, making the blonde jump.

“Like that?” Bucky cooed, stroking Rogers’ already hard cock. “more?”

Steve nodded vigorously.

With his other hand, Bucky slipped lower, fingers seeking. He’d done anal with chicks before, so he figured it was the same basic principles involved. Slide and lube and _gentle._ Rogers seemed to be liking it, if his wiggling and whining was anything to go by.

By the time he was good and stretched, Bucky was all but drooling, his cock heavy and almost painful.

“Can I please fuck you now?” he asked, rubbing his own cock with his lubed up hand. They were both covered in the stuff. What a mess.

“If you don’t, I’m going to die,” Steve said sternly.

“Well, there’s no need to be dramatic,” Bucky said, lining himself up. And oh, if it didn’t make his dick twitch. He was careful, pressing in slowly, giving Steve time to breathe. But Rogers was apparently an old hand at this, and seemed more than eager to get this going. He leaned upwards, hands grabbing Barnes’ hips.

“Like _this_ ,” he said, eyes not leaving Bucky’s. He then just _yanked,_ causing Bucky’s hips to snap forward, sliding all the way home.

Rogers’ eyes rolled and his head fell back while Bucky tried to not blow his load right then and there.

“Christ, you are a greedy bastard,” Bucky huffed heavily, pushing Steve’s hands away. He settled himself on his hands and knees, getting the position just right before he began.

And once he got going, there was no turning back.

Bucky’s blood ran hot and heavy, pounding through his ears and he moved in and out, dick throbbing in Steve’s warmth.

Steve just cooed and hummed and stroked at Bucky’s sides and ribs.

“So good,” Steve rumbled, hips snapping up to meet Bucky.

“Come on,” Bucky grunted, a wave of pleasure sweeping over him. 

“Unh,” Steve grunted when Bucky angled himself just right. There it was again. So he aimed the same, over and over until Rogers was a quivering mess.

“Oh God,” Bucky groaned, falling to his elbows, wanting to kiss that stupid face. His tongue met Steve’s and his hips moved forward and back, Steve’s moans and shivers resonating through Bucky, driving him mad.

“Yes, baby, yes, come on,” Bucky huffed into Steve’s mouth. His brow furrowed as he could feel his heartbeat between them, the blood rushing like wildfire in his veins.

“You can’t–“ Steve whined, his and reedy, “Say that.”

Bucky kept moving, eyes fluttering open, watching Steve fall apart. They were pressed so close now. He was flush against another man, this man, and Bucky felt elevated, beyond sensation.

“Say what?” he got out, “Baby?”

Steve moaned deeper, shivering, hips twitching, the lube making them slip together so easily, it was sinful. His ankles hooked around Bucky’s thighs.

Bucky smiled, licking Steve’s lips. “Baby, come on. Come for me. Let me fuck you deeper, harder You like that? Huh, Baby? _Come on_ , blow your load. I’ll fuck you harder next time. Fill you up, baby. So good for me, _ah_ , _baby_.” Steve’s fingers scraped down Bucky’s back. “ _Ahh.._ ”

And Bucky all but shook apart as his orgasm broke over him, his cock jerking inside Steve, who just shivered, his own dick spurting wetly between them.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky cried, pressing his face to Steve’s neck. “Jesus Christ!” His legs were wobbly, knees a little sore, but he didn’t pull out. He didn’t want to. He wanted to stay there, inside Steve, filling him with his come, keeping them together in this way.

 

“Mmm,” Steve hummed into Bucky’s ear. Big arms wrapped around Bucky, holding him tight. “That was amazing.” Rogers sounded like shit.

Bucky just grunted.

They came down from their high, skin wet, but cooling. Steve’s fingers stroked along Bucky’s spine. It felt wonderful.

When Bucky did eventually push himself upwards, it was to come face-to-face with a very pink, sweaty and rumpled-looking Steve Rogers.

Steve looked at him like sun glinting over the Ocean, sparkling and new every time.

“What?” Bucky grunted, his climax knocking him over every time.

“You’re amazing,” Steve murmured softly, like they hadn’t just fucked themselves into a frenzy.

“Damn right I am,” Bucky grunted, slipping himself free; What a weird feeling that was. Rogers adjusted his legs.

Bucky was exhausted, so he just flopped back down onto Steve, nose pressed just beneath the blonde’s ear.

Steve yanked a pillow closer, so Bucky’s head wasn’t lolling at a weird angle.

“You’re arrogant as hell,” Rogers sighed, hand stroking Bucky’s back still. “But I like that, for some reason.”

Bucky was silent.

“You gonna kick me out now?” Rogers intoned carefully.

Bucky frowned. “No.”

Steve’s hand paused.

“I can’t believe Maximoff gave you my number,” Bucky said instead.

“Remind me to thank her,” Steve murmured.

“She’s never done that before,” Bucky murmured into Steve’s skin.

“Really? Huh,” Rogers shifted around for some reason.

“Stop moving,” Bucky whined.

“Getting–blanket, hold on,” Steve grunted. A soft wooly something settled over Bucky. Hmf. 

“Maybe she felt sorry for me,” Steve said.

“Why would she feel sorry for you?” Bucky asked.

Steve shrugged under him.

“I dunno.”

“Did you tell her we boned?” Bucky asked, pushing himself up. He glared down at Steve.

But the blonde just shook his head. “I never told anyone.”

Bucky eyed him warily.

“Wilson looked like he wanted to stab me,” Bucky said.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Okay, so Sam’s known about my, um, _crush_ on you forever. I think he was pissed because of the way you, you know, behave sometimes.”

Bucky looked him over. “No.”

Steve blinked. “No? No what?”

“Trust me, Wilson knew we boned. Or he knew something. No one looks at me like that unless I’ve deflowered their virginal sister, or something.”

“You do that often?” Steve cocked a brow at him.

Bucky rolled over, flopping onto the bed.

“Eh, I’m not exactly a nice guy, Rogers.”

Silence followed.

Steve rolled over onto his side. “I think you’re nice.”

Bucky snorted. “You just got your brains fucked out, of course you think that. My dick is magical.”

This time Steve laughed. “Oh, so you’re the magical dick wizard they all talk about.”

Bucky huffed a laugh.

“But back to the topic you clearly hate.” Rogers said. “You are nice. You just don’t want anyone to know.”

Bucky looked up at him. “Listen,” he paused. “Shut up.”

Rogers smirked. “I didn’t tell anyone about us, but I’m pretty sure our teams were trying to set us up.”

Bucky groaned and covered his eyes. “Oh, God, so it wasn’t just me. Thank Christ! So embarrassing to have a bunch of sixteen year-olds set me up with a dude.”

Steve chuckled.

“Yeah, I don’t know what it was, but my team was in on it too.”

“Well, my team is pretty much in love with your dumb face,” Bucky said. “ _Coach Rogers_ is so cute! _Coach Rogers_ is so nice! _Coach Rogers_!”

Steve smiled. “Yeah, that Coach Rogers. What a great guy.”

“Psshht,” Bucky snorted. “Heard he’s more of a giant sap.”

“Mmmm,” Steve leaned in suddenly, kissing Bucky. 

They kissed for a moment, gentle and sweet, which was so uncharacteristically odd to Bucky, that he just went with it.

“You got a week off, right?” Steve murmured against him, hand sliding over Bucky’s belly under the blanket. It was probably sticky and gross under there.

“Yeah,” Bucky’s tongue came out, trying to lick at Roger’s lips. “Why? You wanna bang until the sun rises next Sunday?”

Rogers’ face dropped, forehead pressing to Bucky’s cheek. 

“Well, when you say it so sweetly,” Steve laughed.

“I thought you had to get back to Toronto,” Bucky said, softer this time.

Steve’s head rose. “Nope. Visiting friends in town first. Then, yeah, back to Toronto.”

Bucky pouted, “Well, that sucks.”

“Does it, though?” Steve leaned in with a smile, angling for another kiss.

“Yeah, it does,” Bucky griped, pulling Steve in closer again.

 

* * *

 

Bucky's phone vibrated. He picked it up.

"Hey," Kamala said, snapping her fingers. "No cellphones during training!"

"Shut up," Bucky said, chewing on his sandwich. They'd been training all morning and finally settled in for lunch.

He opened up the message. It was a photo. He clicked it and it showed the TIME magazine he and his team had received that morning, special delivery.

"Hey, it's us," Sami said, leaning over his shoulder.

Bucky yanked his phone to his chest. "Excuse you!" he barked.

They all laughed. 

> **Steve:**
> 
> Looking good, Coach ;P

Bucky smirked and laid down his sandwich so he could tap back a message.

> **Bucky** :
> 
> Not so bad yourself, babe.

On the table sat the same magazine pictured on Bucky's phone. TIME had done an amazing shoot, he had to be honest. It was one of the fancy fold-out covers. On the newsstands, it looked amazing, the two female gymnastics teams photographed together, all draped in their respective medals and colours. On the right, TEAM USA posing, fists up, arms flexed, faces like Arnold Schwarzenegger, and the Canadian girls on the left side, mirroring their poses perfectly. It made such a striking combination. It was even cooler when you opened up the double-cover, it revealed a photo of their team Coaches. On the left, Steve in his black and red coaching uniform, and on the right, Bucky in his red, white and blue. They were standing in identical poses, legs spread, arms folded, faces tough.

Underneath them, the headline read: 'Started from the Bottom'.

Bucky loved it.

Because when the cover was closed, another headline, splashed over the two sets of gymnasts read: "And Now we're Here."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's that, folks!  
> Thank you to those of you who commented and kudosed this little story. You made my heart sing! 
> 
> This was fun to write, for sure.  
> I MAY add extra snippets, or extras, but I'm not sure. I left out a few scenes that may be better on their own at a later date. BAH, we'll see. No guarantees. I've stopped guaranteeing anything anymore because I'm fickle as hell. :)
> 
> If y'all have any prompts or, like, feedback on this story, my [Tumblr](http://nejineee.tumblr.com/) is always open.


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